


Back to the Beginning

by TheBusyAuthor



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, Freebatch - Fandom, Martin Freeman - Fandom, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Amnesia, Anal Sex, Best Friends, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Drama, Drama & Romance, Falling In Love, Family, Flashbacks, Fluff, Freebatch - Freeform, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hospitals, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Memories, Memory Loss, Recovery, Romance, Slow Build, Support, romantic, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 97,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22973890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBusyAuthor/pseuds/TheBusyAuthor
Summary: After being involved in an accident, Martin wakes up in the intensive care unit of the Royal London Hospital - quite distressed when he learns that he isn't any longer the person he remembers.A fluffy and dramatic Freebatch story to get butterflies, to cry and to laugh and smirk and smile.I'm not a native English speaker, so I hope the grammar is quite alright.Have fun.
Relationships: Benedict Cumberbatch/Martin Freeman
Comments: 164
Kudos: 68





	1. Silence

_**\- Friday, August/12 – 2016, in the evening, London, Royal London Hospital -** _

Silence.  
There was an unbearably heavy silence in one of the rooms at the Royal London Hospital.  
One could even hardly hear the breathing of the man lying in the hospital bed.  
Silence. 

Only one man was lying here in this room since this morning, had been taken to this room this morning, after spending the last days in the intensive care unit. He had spent five days in intensive care - unconscious, awake, totally exhausted after surgery, hooked up to a lot of different tubes and medical devices, which had monitored everything and had given him proper medication.  
Five long days, he could barely remember.  
Five long days, starting with something he could not remember.  
Five long days that had ended this morning when he had been taken to a ward.  
But now the future began, and he still couldn’t remember why he was even here – the doctors and nurses had given him a short report about it, but he had to trust the doctor and nurses blindly, since nothing of what they had told him, had sounded familiar.  
In the end, it didn't make any difference to him whether he was lying here or in the other room, locked to the medical devices.

It didn't change the fact that he had lost the last 16 years of his life - at least that's what he had been told yesterday.  
His visitors and the doctor had told him how many years were lost right now.  
He had recognized his visitors after a few confused moments and a closer look; he had known them, but they had grown old; at least for him, for him his visitors had aged 16 years with the blink of an eye.  
It had been frightening, and as much as he liked, appreciated and loved his visitors, he had seen yesterday, he had been absolutely relieved when they had left.  
He had barely endured their visits, had been completely exhausted, his nerves had been frazzled in such an intense way, that after an in-house psychiatrist had been unable to calm him down, a nurse had injected a mild sedative.

Just a moment ago he had had another visitor, another person he knew at least a little bit. He had just had dinner with her, here in the room - without a big conversation.  
It was just too much for his head.  
It was too much for him.  
But luckily, this friend had understood, seemed to be relieved to see him alive and to be able to have dinner with him - they hadn't had to exchange big words, she had understood him almost blindly.

He could hardly decide what he wanted for himself.  
Did he want to know everything about himself?  
Did he just want to get to know a little bit about himself?  
Did he want to get to know something new?  
It attracted him magically and at the same time frightened him.  
It was scary and frightening.  
It put his heart on high alert with excitement and fear; it chased his head into deep, endless brooding; it chased his stomach into endless curious tingling.

16 years was a long time.  
16 years were not only 2 weeks of his life, which he would be able to catch up on in no time.  
16 years were 834 weeks - a mountain of 834 weeks that seemed insurmountable at the moment.

He was alone again.  
Alone with his thoughts, alone with his raging heart, alone with his curiously tingling stomach.  
And it had become completely quiet in the room again.  
Silence.

Only in his head it was unbearably loud.

He was lying in bed, his head turned to the window; he was looking through it, to the world outside this room.  
The sun was still shining, high in the blue London sky, which was interspersed with small white clouds.  
In his face one could see some abrasions; the big laceration on his head was covered by his hair. His right collarbone was broken - a figure-of-eight bandage with a sling held his forearm in the desired position. Speaking of his forearm, it was useless at the moment since it was in a plastered cast - wrist fracture. And during the surgery he had had on Tuesday, they had fixed his fracture of the left femoral neck, which meant that he would now be confined to the bed for another 2 weeks; here in the hospital.

He didn't know if he should feel this bad or not - he had no idea what he was doing anyway, unless he was in the hospital with a fractured neck of his femur, a fractured wrist, a broken collarbone and retrograde amnesia.  
In the end, he already knew, he had been told at least roughly - but he himself couldn't recall all that at the moment, and he still wouldn't know anything about it if he hadn't been told.  
For him it had been the year 2000 - for a few moments until he had been told that it was already August 2016.  
That indeed almost 16 years had passed, he had been able to prove very quickly - a mirror had been enough and he had seen that he didn't look like he did 16 years ago; and on top of that he looked quite battered with all the injuries.  
It had been frightening, confusing and upsetting to suddenly see oneself this old, not knowing what had happened in the last years; not knowing how one had aged.  
And it was just as frightening not to know who you have been for the last 16 years, not to know who you were friends with, not to know what you have done, not to know who you have loved.

He squeezed his eyes together.  
Thinking was exhausting - not only did his incessant thinking cause headaches and nausea, it also made him tired, it made him panicky and sad, and a strong feeling of shame was rumbling through his stomach, heart and head, every time.  
He tried to calm down and take a deep breath.  
He tried to turn his head off.  
But it remained unbearably loud in it.

When the visitor had left he had actually been relieved, now the outward silence and loneliness almost overwhelmed him.  
He kept pressing his eyes together, biting his lip.  
He listened for noises outside the door, hoped for footsteps, hoped for a knock, hoped for some visitors.

He only heard the silence.


	2. Chemistry

_**\- Friday, August/12 – 2016, 7.07pm, London, Royal London Hospital -** _

Benedict rushed through the corridors of the Royal London Hospital.  
The last few days he had been in Los Angeles. He had had several appointments and he had visited his son Christopher – the relationship with Sophie was history since the end of March, and since he had been busy with shooting Sherlock, he hadn't seen his son since breaking up with Sophie.  
He had just arrived in London, hadn't even asked his chauffeur to drive him home, but had come straight here - directly to the Royal London Hospital.  
Amanda had texted him on Saturday; a message he wouldn’t forget in the next few weeks or months or years.  
As much as he loved his son, he couldn't have waited to fly back to London to visit Martin. 

He had followed the news, which hadn't been very clever and smart, since news made it always worse than it already was.  
But even Amanda, Simon, his own parents and all the other people who had been in the intensive care unit, when Martin hadn't been conscious, hadn't been able to calm him down.  
They had tried to calm him down, but this hadn't changed the fact that Martin hadn't been conscious for the whole of Sunday and Monday, that he had needed surgery, that he still wasn’t living in the here and now - for Martin it had been the year 2000 and a moment later the year 2016.  
And that meant that Martin didn't know him.  
Martin had no idea who he was, what they had experienced, what they had told each other, what chemistry and friendship they shared, what secrets they had confided each other. 

Benedict hurried through the corridor to the last room on the left Hand side.  
He took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his hair, tried to calm down his rapidly racing heart. He closed his eyes, wanted to knock but only pressed his hand against the door.  
He chewed on his lower lip; the feeling he had was almost impossible to describe, and absolutely overchallenging. Behind this door lay a man with whom he had been very close friends for years, who was very important to him and meant a lot to him, with whom he would love to spend much more time - and this man no longer knew who was just standing in front of this door, struggling to knock.  
It felt like he had lost a friend, even though Martin was alive.

He swallowed, ran his fingers through his hair again, took another breath and then he knocked on the door with a wild and sadly pounding heart.  
After a few moments and a second knock he heard Martin's familiar voice.  
"Yes?"  
Benedict opened the door and entered the room.  
He slowly closed the door behind him, turned around and looked at Martin.

The grey hair hung down into his face and was slightly tousled, not properly styled as usual, but the tousled hair suited him very much. There were numerous abrasions on his face, especially on the left cheek. He had a beard, was wearing a dark t-shirt and was covered up with the blanket to his stomach. His arm was in a figure-of-eight bandage and his forearm was additionally plastered. He was on a drip feed, which probably supplied him with painkillers; and a pulse oxymeter was also on his left index finger.

For Benedict, the worst thing about Martin’s appearance weren’t the injuries at the moment - Martin was awake, and the doctors had said that no neurological damage such as paralysis or speech disorder or other life-threatening disorders and limitations were present or to be expected.  
It was also not the fact that Martin looked as if he hadn't slept for months and as if he had had a pretty bad time - the thick bags under his eyes, the sleepy and tired face, the flabby and exhausted posture were not life-threatening; in a few days or weeks he would look a little fresher, in a few weeks all the fractures and abrasions would have healed again.

The worst thing were those deep blue eyes that looked at him as if they were seeing him for the very first time - which was true for Martin in a way.  
Normally, Martin's eyes sparkled warmly, naturally happily and authenically cheerfully when they saw each other, sometimes they even sparkled cheekily and mischievously, just as if he had bred some mischief in his sometimes unbelievably childish head to tease him, to annoy him, to tease and annoy others with him - today the eyes expressed something different.  
A lot of big question marks, confusion, irritation, curiosity, even more question marks, fear and panic, unkowingness, shame - just as if he knew that he should know the visitor.

"Hello," Ben muttered in his deep voice, still standing at the door.  
If Martin hadn't lost his memory, he would have started babbling already - what he had done to himself, why he needed to scare him this much, why he couldn't be left alone for a few days, and so on. But now he held himself back, didn't really know how to deal with the man who for the first time at a reunion didn't look at him with shiny and sparkling blue eyes; who for the first time at a reunion didn’t threw himself into his tightly hug expecting arms.  
"Hello," Martin muttered exhaustedly; he still looked at him questioningly. "Do we know each other, Sir?" Martin asked as if he was hoping that they had never met before. He looked at Ben, who was standing in the room in dark trousers, a white t-shirt and sunglasses in his hand. "You are not from the hospital. At least you do not have a name tag." His voice was very polite, very formal.  
Benedict swallowed; the very polite and formale voice was strange, not even on the day they met they had talked to each other like this - they had generally never used the formal form of talking before, not once - if you don't count in the 'Mr. Freeman' and 'Mr. Cumberbatch' while fooling around.  
He walked slowly to Martin's bed, put his sunglasses on the windowsill.  
His eyes looked down at Martin.  
"Hmm, we know each other, Martin." Ben said. "I am Benedict. May I join you?" He asked softly.  
Martin looked at him.  
"Um, you… you can." Martin muttered.

As Benedict sat down on the chair in front of the bed, Martin kept looking at him. He thought and thought and thought, trying to remember a Benedict. He knew a Benedict, his brother, but he wasn't really that tall and he hadn't had such dark hair back then, quite the opposite was the truth, his brother Benedict had very light blonde hair, well, now it was a very light grey. And Benedict was his oldest brother, so if it was indeed 2016, then he would look much older now, then he was over 50 now.  
This Benedict here didn't look like he was over 50, he didn't look like he was 50, he didn't even look like he was 40. In any case, this Benedict here was younger than himself - and if it was 2016, then he himself would soon be 45.  
He didn't know this Benedict sitting in front of him; he had never seen him before. He bit his lip - they must have met in the last 16 years, which meant that this Benedict knew him and he himself had no idea who he was.

"Sorry, I don't know who you are. I only know one Benedict, my brother, but that's not you. He looks as old as you at the moment,... or rather not any more, it's been 16 years,... so I have to say that he looked as young as you back then," he murmured softly and insecurely. "How do we know each other? And how long have we known each other?" Martin asked apologetically, his eyes still looking at him - shamefully and shyly.  
Benedict bowed his head; he smiled at Martin's apology.  
"You only apologise when you don't have to," Ben smiled. "I'm not your brother, that's right. But sometimes it felt like you were my big brother - but you didn't like to hear that because I teased you and your age with saying that you’re my big brother." Ben smiled. "We are very close friends since 2009, for seven years now. Back then, it immediately clicked between the two of us as friends. From the very first moment there was an incredible and magical chemistry between us. We have heard of each other before, but it was only through working together that we got to know each other personally. We're both shooting for a series called Sherlock,... I'm the Sherlock to your Watson," Benedict said calmly and tried to calm himself down. 

But that was easier said than done - he could act differently on the outside, but on the inside it was very different. It hurt like hell that Martin didn't know who he was, even if it wasn't Martin's own fault. His heart raced unpleasantly fast and his stomach contracted unpleasantly over and over again. He had to swallow down the lump in his throat; to see Martin like this was horrible - it felt like it wasn't Martin at all. In this bed there was no self-confident, even if he often just pretended to be self-confident, no open, grumpy, cheeky, charming gentleman, who sometimes behaved like a 5-year-old. In front of him lay a man who looked scared, ashamed and shy; a man who was confused, who didn't curse or say anything cheeky, who just seemed to hope that someone told him that it was in fact the year 2000 and everything had been a bad joke and prank, who maybe just hoped to wake up from this nightmare.

Martin bedded his head a little differently and looked at Ben.  
"Oh, Amanda also told me about Sherlock. She plays my wife, she's also a very close friend of mine. I still knew her, at least a little bit. So you know her too when you play Sherlock," he said, and his eyes flitted across Benedict's face.  
Benedict nodded.  
"Yes, I know Amanda too, but I only met her because of you. And then she was casted for BBC Sherlock. Did she visited you today?"  
Martin nodded slightly.  
"Hmm, she ate dinner with me."  
"Oh, then I must have missed her."  
Martin nodded slightly again, continued to watch Ben.  
Benedict raised his hand and placed it hesitantly on Martin's left forearm.  
"Don't strain your head too much by trying to find out who exactly I am."  
Martin looked down at his arm, then back to Ben.  
"How do you know that?"  
"Your eyes show it and I know you long and well enough to know that you're always thinking about something," Ben smiled a little. “And most of the time you’re like an open book to me, because you let me… read you.” He patted Martin's forearm. "How are you, Martin?"

Martin looked at Ben's hand and then up into his face again.  
"I'm tired and everything hurts, even so they gave me quite a lot of painkillers. But the worst thing is not to know anything about the last 16 years." He raised his hand, tapped gently against his head. "I suddenly had grey hair." He touched his face. "And wrinkles... and a beard" He lowered his hand again. "And then I was told that I’m a well known actor with a lot of fans. But I know absolutely nothing about that. It makes no sense to me. I remember that I was shooting for ‘Men Only’, ... but nobody really knew me, and I wasn't really popular back then. That's where I met Amanda. I really don't know anything about the last 16 years. It's not a good feeling. It's confusing... and it scares me," he admitted openly, speaking about it for the first time in front of someone else.

Ben bowed his head, looking at him cheerfully.  
"You’re having grey hair for a few years now," Ben smirked, raised his hand and simply caressed across the soft grey hair, winking amicably. "But you shouldn't worry about that, as far as I know, all your fans like your grey hair," he now winked cheekily. And even Martin had to smile a bit more, he almost smirked. "It's the same with the wrinkles and that beard," Ben grinned softly when he saw Martin's slight smirk, who now even started to grin. Ben winked again and then smiled gently. "We'll fix that other thing, too. You're the one of us who has the better memory, so I hope for your sake that you haven't really forgotten me. Otherwise I'll have raved about you a lot in every interview for nothing. Maybe I haven't enthused enough about you as an actor, human being and friend," he smiled a bit more, hoping that he would cheer him up a bit.

Martin smiled again.  
This unknown man, who was apparently not so unknown to him at all, had taken away a bit of the queasy feeling in his stomach, had made him smile for the first time, and he had managed to make him admit for the first time in the last two days that he was afraid.  
"Apparently, it wasn't enough," Martin smiled softly.  
"I mention you in almost every interview, even when they’re not asking about you," Ben smiled. "I talk about you all the time."  
"Then you have to mention me twice in every interview from now on," Martin smiled.  
Benedict smiled at him.

Martin look softer at him again.  
"I'm really sorry I don't know you, Benedict. I'm sure it's not a great feeling for you either. But I'm looking forward to getting to know you again."  
"Martin,... it's not your fault. It's not your fault. You're right, it's not a great feeling for me either. You haven’t just had a pretty bad accident; suddenly I disappeared from your life like so many others. You disappeared out of it yourself. This isn't about me, it's about you, Martin. But I will do anything you need to get to know me again," Ben said softly.  
Martin still looked at him apologetically.

Ben patted his forearm again.  
"Let's continue getting to know each other tomorrow, hmm? You should rest, Martin. I just wanted to stop by today and see if everything is alright. I can come back tomorrow if you want."  
Martin nodded.  
"That would be nice. Same time,... so nobody interups us."  
Benedict nodded with a smile and stood up. He gently squeezed Martin's left shoulder.  
"I'll come back to see you tomorrow night. You have your phone here, ... we don’t text that often because we often don’t have time for it. Now we both have the time to do it. I'm registered as Ben C., in case you need some company."  
"Thank you. It’s good to have you back tomorrow, Benedict."  
“I’m off duty for a while. I can bother and annoy you every day," Ben winked. "Sleep well, Martin."  
"Tomorrow you'll have to tell me who is more of a pain in the ass," Martin smiled exhaustedly. "Good night, Benedict."  
"Maybe you don't want to hear this," Ben grinned with a wink.

Martin had to grin a little bit, too.  
He followed Ben with his eyes.  
"Your sunglasses," he said when Benedict was already at the door.  
Benedict turned to Martin, who pointed to the windowsill with his left hand and a soft smile.  
He came back to Martin, took the sunglasses and put them on his shirt.  
"Thank you. See you tomorrow," Ben said gently, caressing Martin's hand once.  
"See you tomorrow," Martin said softly and with a smile.  
He looked at Ben, who walked back to the door.

"I can feel the chemistry," Martin said in a soft voice before Benedict left the room.

Benedict turned his head to him again.  
They smiled at each other.  
And then Ben closed the door.


	3. Black

_**\- Friday, August/12 – 2016, 11.00pm, London, Royal London Hospital, Martin’s room -** _

It didn't take long; shortly after Benedict had left the room, Martin had fallen asleep with his head booming. Even though there were so many questions in his head and he was actually someone who thought about them forever and kept himself from sleeping, this time he just fell asleep - which was probably due to all the painkillers and the exhausting days in the intensive care unit.

A few minutes ago he woke up again - it was not really easy to sleep with this figure-of-eight-bandage, not to mention the pain, which he still felt even so the painkillers probably already were helping a lot.

In the room it was dark and quiet.  
Martin lay on his back, looking into the darkness – the darkness was not only here in the room but also in his head.  
All the rooms of the last 16 years were empty and black - there was nothing in them, or very little. He had put some information in - things he had learned from his mother, his stepfather, Jamie and Tim; things he had learned from Amanda and Ben; things he had learned from the doctors.

Room 2016 had the most informations in it so far and yet it was only a small colorful corner in the otherwise black room.  
And this little colorful corner was also a very unwelcome 'memory'. It was the information about his accident.  
The doctor had told him yesterday what had happened.

He had been on his bike.  
Without a helmet.  
He didn't know why he had ridden his bike and where he had wanted to go to, and above all he didn't know why he had ridden his bike without a helmet.  
Apparently he had been riding through the woods, riding through the forest, somewhere near Potter's Bar, where he apparently lived now - since 2008, his mother had told him; she had also told him that he had moved away because fans had been ringing the door bell all the time; he had put this information in the 2008 room.  
A car had probably used the commercial vehicle path and swept him off the road.  
If he was completely honest, he was glad that he couldn't remember it. All the descriptions had not sounded very nice and he had also seen for himself that the accident hadn’t done him any good - so he could actually live without this memory.

In other rooms he had already been able to pack sparse information.  
Nevertheless they were all more black than colorful. And not one of the stories he could remember for himself at all. He only knew because he had been told. But one could have told him that he had nothing to do with acting anymore and would now live in a flatshare in Cambridge - he would have believed that too and would not have questioned it.   
It hadn't clicked on any of the stories.  
There hadn't been a flashback to any of the stories.  
But they had promised him that exactly this would happen.

He rubbed his left hand over his eyes.   
It was a terrible feeling not to know who you have been the last 16 years, what you have experienced, how you lived, who you loved, who you knew.  
It stirred him up incredibly - it made him angry and incredibly sad at the same time. And he didn't know whether to cry with anger or sadness, or whether to just pull himself together.

He was alive, even though he had ridden without a helmet and had a crash with a car, he should actually be more than grateful and thankful for that and grit his teeth now.  
But how could he do that? How should he just grit his teeth?  
He had learned from one second to the next that 16 years had passed.  
He had seen himself in the mirror - with almost grey hair, wrinkles, bags under his eyes, a body that was no longer 28 years old, but 44.   
He had learned that he had neither a partner, nor a wife, nor children; something he had actually always wanted, a family - but on the other hand, right now it was a good thing, so at least he had not forgotten his own wife and children.  
He learned that he had made an incredible number of new friends – he didn’t know any of them, but they were missing him as a friend.  
He had found out that he suddenly was a quite well-known and popular actor, who had lots of female and male fans, who all seemed to be quite fond of him; apparently he couldn't even walk through the streets or go for a meal somewhere in peace - it was scary; he knew he was used to it, he must have been used to it, but how could he deal with it later on the street, when the memories of it wouldn't be back yet? Now he was no longer used to it, hardly anyone had known him when he had been 28 years old.  
And all this was only the sparse news he had heard until now.  
How on earth could he just grit his teeth?

He rubbed his eyes again, swallowed and bit his lower lip.  
His heart was beating fast, his head was pounding, not only from his head injury, but from all the thoughts he was having.  
He tried to take a deep breath, to calm down a bit - to get some rest again.   
He wanted to let his thoughts wander to Benedict, wanted to search for memories.

This Benedict had been quite likeable and on top of that they were apparently very close friends - he had said that they had a special chemistry since they first met 7 years ago. And he had felt this chemistry when they had talked to each other - it hadn't been tangible, he couldn't say how he had felt this chemistry; but he had felt it, he had felt it, it had been there, like a magical bond.  
That Benedict had made him smile and grin - it had been the first time since he had woken up here. And he had been quite obliging and friendly. He had been very polite, had withdrawn himself, although it must have hurt him quite a lot that he had not been recognized. At least that's what Martin could say about himself; if a close friend with whom he had a special chemistry suddenly forgot him, even without intention - he would be incredibly hurt.

Benedict.  
Ben C. - this was how Benedict was stored in his mobile phone  
What did the C stand for?   
Chase, Connor, Curtis, Cook, Cole, Collins?   
God, it all sounded incredibly awful in connection with Benedict.  
Benedict - tall, slender but muscly, dark and short hair - maybe not his real hair colour at all, grey eyes, sharp cheekbones, quite interestingly shaped lips, he liked the style of his clothes as well as the sunglasses he had with him, deep voice.   
Benedict. Benedict. Benedict.

Martin squinting his eyes.  
"Come on!" he cheered himself up. "There must be something," he kept mumbling. "Sherlock, he plays Sherlock, you play Watson. You must remember this man if you've worked together for seven years!" he growled grumpy.  
He squinted his eyes even more.

He searched all the rooms, every year - from 2016 to 2009.   
Black - no Benedict.  
The rooms 2009 - 2000.  
Black - no Benedict.  
2000 – 1971   
Black - no Benedict.

He did not find him.   
He did not find him in any room.  
He searched again from 1971 to 2016.  
He found nothing about him - only the information that they met in 2009.  
He clenched his left hand to a fist.  
"I know that! He told me that himself! I can't do anything with that information," he growled angrily and his voice dropped at the end. "Where is Benedict?" he muttered sadly.

He still squinted his eyes - not to remember.  
He had given up - his head was pounding and buzzing like crazy, he felt dizzy and quite sick; he felt the panic spilling up, with shame and sadness.  
He squeezed his eyes together to suppress the tears that, unimpressed by Martin's attempts, made their way into his eyes and ran recklessly down Martin's cheeks - silently and steadily.  
His heart beat fast and painfully against his chest.   
He gasped for breath, breathed in frantically, tried to swallow down the new tears.  
He sobbed.

Ben C., Ben C., Ben C. - that's how Benedict was registrated in his phone.  
His smartphone!  
He opened his eyes again, wiped away his tears with his left hand and then groped for the smartphone on the candy his mother had brought him.  
Jamie had unlocked it with the long PUK, had been in Martin's house for clothes, and had also rummaged through his office cabinets and documents and finally found the data - and now Martin had simply put in his birthday as the code.  
0809.

He opened WhatsApp, searched for their chat.  
Ben C.!  
He clicked on it, scrolled through the latest messages.  
God, they texted incredibly rarely.  
The gaps between the messages were sometimes very long and Benedict had texted most of the time.  
The last message, he had received on the 6th of August.  
‘I landed safely :-)’  
The question was where. The question was, what had he done there. One answer was, he was now definitely back, or had he landed in London on August the 6th?

He typed a message for Benedict even though it was already shortly before one o'clock in the morning due to his brooding.

_**I found you... on this phone at least. Thanks for coming to see me. Thanks for coming back tonight.** _

He closed WhatsApp, opened his pictures and scrolled through them, just looking for Ben right now.   
There were a few selfies of Ben that he probably had sent him at some point. On one of them, he was dressed as Doctor Strange.   
Doctor Strange; he knew him, at least he knew there were comics about him, he hadn't read them himself - but Ben seemed to have made a film about it, as Doctor Strange.

A message appeared at the top of the screen. He opened it.

_Still awake, or awake again? You don't have to thank me for that. I'd have visited you a lot sooner if I'd been there. But you had to have an accident while I was out of the country. That was the first and last time, Mr. Freeman, that you had an accident, and more importantly, that you had an accident when I wasn't here. Were you looking for me in your memories?_

Martin tilted his head, smiled a little.

_**I will try, Benedict. I am awake again; it is not very comfortable. And yes, I've been trying to find you, but everything's just black. You're nowhere. I can't find you.** _

_I can relate, I can't really sleep on my back either, and it’s probably not quite comfortable in the cast and that bandage for your collarbone. I'm somewhere there, Martin. You just have to find the light switch. You know, it’s like when you are looking for something desperately, then you can't find it. And when you stop looking for it, you see it immediately. I can't imagine what it's like to lose 16 years of memories. Probably in your situation I would try just as hard to find them as you do - they will come back, all of them, sometime, Martin._

_**It's horrible, Benedict. It's just an incredibly horrible and awful feeling. And on top of that, it's a terrible feeling for all those I forgot, just like it is for you.** _

_It's not about us, Martin. It's about you. We all still know you, we don't have to get to know you again. Our Martin is still here, pretty banged up right now, but he's still here. You have to get to know us again. Try to be patient, I know I can say this easily now, and I know patience is not your strongest suit - we all have to be patient and we will all help you as much as we can._

Martin sighed, looked through the pictures again. There weren't many with Ben, but he did find a few selfies with him. Even a current one, at least the fourth of August 2016 told him that - it looked like they were on a set. 

A new message from Benedict.

_Try to sleep. Get some rest. It will be a long day for you. I'll come over again in the evening and I'll see if I can get you some things you like and that might distract you a bit. I look forward to seeing you later, Martin._

_**What will you bring me?** _

_:-) I don't know yet, Mr. Curious. And even if I would, I wouldn't tell you now. Let's see what I can get you later._

_**I'm glad you’ll visit me again. Not just because you’ll bring me something.** _

_I'm really looking forward to seeing you too. Sleep well._

_**You too.** _


	4. Benny

_**\- Saturday, August/13 – 2016, 7pm, London, Royal London Hospital, Martin’s room -** _

Martin had slept almost the whole day, or rather he had dozed off from time to time, he had never been able to sleep for a really long time.   
First breakfast.  
Then an examination.  
Then the doctor was there for a short time.  
Lunch.  
Then his mother had been here with his stepfather James - they had brought him some more clothes and talked to him a bit.  
Shortly after that Jamie had come over with his wife Stevie - they had brought him some things from home as well.  
Dinner.

And now there was another knock on the door.  
After a moment the visitor just opened the door slowly and stepped into the room.   
Benedict closed the door behind him, then turned around to Martin, who was lying in bed and was once again having a nap in the hospital bed.   
Benedict walked to the bed, put the basket quietly down on the windowsill and slipped out of his thin summer jacket - he hung it over the chair next to Martin's bed. 

Benedict looked at the man lying in the hospital bed of this single room - his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling slowly and evenly. One could still see the sewn up laceration; the abrasions and bruises still looked just as bad as yesterday - but what should have changed or improved since yesterday? His right arm was still in a figure-of-eight bandage and his forearm was still in a cast; his leg were under the blanket in short trousers; he was just having a big bandage on his hip from the surgery and they have also given him a thrombosis stocking. He was also still on drip feed, the catheter was still in place and the pulse oxymeter was also still on his left index finger, monitoring him.

Benedict tilted his head - it was anything but great to see Martin like that. It was bad enough that he had forgotten everything about him and them - he really didn't want to see him lying in hospital in a condition like this one. Sometimes it was already an unpleasant thing to see Martin injured in movies and series - which was actually complete nonsense, because he knew exactly that everything was good make-up and acting. And still he suffered along with the little cheeky gentleman.   
He brushed the slightly longer hair from Martin's face, which he hadn’t cut for Cargo, yet. Apart from the fact that he wouldn’t do Cargo anymore - Cargo would probably postponed, the producers hadn't decided, yet. 

His hand gently caressed Martin's forearm before he sat down, moved the chair a little closer and took Martin's fingers in his hand. He gently caressed the back of Martin’s left hand with his thumb 

For almost half an hour he just sat on the chair in front of Martin's bed, held his fingers, caressed the back of the hand and watched Martin sleep.   
And then the older man slowly opened his eyes.   
The eyelids fluttered open very slowly.  
Benedict smiled gently, didn't take his hand away, just smiled lovingly.   
And he also managed to put a smile on Martin's face.   
"Benny... ", Martin muttered in a sleepy voice. The blue eyes sparkled tiredly, a big smile suddenly appeared on his tired face.   
Ben tilted his head - God, he hated to be called Benny, and especially Martin had always done it when he had really wanted to annoy and tease him, or when he had just wanted to get his attention and the KungFu stunts hadn't helped him any longer.   
But now he just couldn't manage to correct Martin - this Benny had been too loving and joyful, hadn't sounded annoying, cheeky or fretting; it had just sounded sweet and innocent. And even more than that, it was an irrelevant information right now. There were more important things – he could bear it to be called Benny by Martin for now. 

Ben smiled and gently squeezed Martin's fingers.   
"Hello Martin."   
"Hey,… how long have you waited for me to wake up?" Martin asked yawningly.   
"Not that long. I didn't want to wake you up. I was just watching Martin Freeman sleep, because I haven't seen him doing this, yet," Ben winked and smiled.   
"Was it interesting?" Martin asked with a smile.   
"I could have watched you another two or three hours," Ben admitted.   
"The answer is enough for me," Martin smiled tiredly and his fingers squeezed Ben's hand.   
Ben smiled, too; he squeezed Martin's fingers again and then let go off his hand. 

Martin raised his hand, rubbed his eyes and then took the remote control to put the bed into a better position.  
He really needed to sit up properly right now.   
He turned his head to Ben when he was happy with his sitting position; he smiled at him.  
"I'm glad you're here."  
Benedict nodded.  
"I'll come over as often as you like," he smiled, and then he turned to the windowsill and took the basket. "I brought you some stuff. I know you love soul music and your records, but since you wouldn't be able to change the records, I didn't ask your family to bring your the record player. I bought you some candy I know you like. I mean, you love food in general - I limited it to a few sweets anyway. I didn't want your very little tummy to get any bigger," Ben smiled softly.

Martin watched him talking, smiled and smirked. Sweets sounded fantastic.  
"Thanks, that's sweet of you," he beamed. "I can listen to the soul music on my smartphone, Jamie brought my headphones today," he smiled. And then he smirked again. "Have you seen my very little tummy yet, or why are you so good at knowing this? And it’s almost flat!"  
Ben smiled at him and put the chocolate and gummy bears in the bedside drawer. A growing grin spread across his face.  
"I've seen the little tiny tummy in a few movies and also live and in colour on the Sherlock set. When you changed while I was with you in the trailer, for example. So, I saw a little chubby tummy, a little tummy, the tiny tummy and the almost flat tummy."  
Martin grinned gently.  
Ben winked, then continued talking.  
"I also brought you another book. I was going to bring you some newspapers first, but you can read the news on your smartphone."  
Martin nodded.  
"Hmm, I saw it yesterday. When we stopped texting I did a bit of research, and Jamie had already briefly explained WhatsApp to me yesterday morning after we had unlocked the phone. Thank goodness it's so clear and easy to use. The phone I remember looked a little different. Without this bitten-in apple on the back and with it one couldn't do much more then texting and calling someone," Martin smiled. Benedict grinned at him and Martin had to grin for a few moments, too. "What book have you brought me, Benny?"

Benedict looked at him and then pulled the book out of the basket. This Benny was still horrible, even though Martin pronounced it softly and lovingly and not as provocatively as he usually did.  
He handed Martin the book.  
Martin took it in his left hand and read the title.  
He bowed his head.  
"Does the author mean anything to you?" Ben asked.   
Martin shook his head, looked up at Benedict and then back down at the book. He turned it over and read the summary.  
"But it sounds exciting."  
"The author isn’t popular since a long time. But he’s one of your favorite authors. You have all his books, this is the latest one. You told me a week ago, that you wanted to buy it this week," Ben said softly.  
Martin raised his head and put the book in his lap.  
"I can't remember that. Neither the author nor that I told you about it. I'm sorry. But thank you for the book," he smiled. "Maybe I'll remember some of it when I read it," he said softly. "Thanks, Benny, for the candy and the book."  
"First of all... please stop apologizing all the time," Ben smiled. "Second, please slow down, and third, you’re welcome, Martin."

Martin bowed his head smiled and nodded.  
"Tell me something about yourself, Benny. How old are you? When's your birthday? Do you live in London? Do you have family? Oh, and what does the C stand for?"  
Ben smiled gently. He took the book from Martin's lap and put it on the bedside table.  
"The C stands for Cumberbatch."  
"Benedict Cumberbatch," Martin said the name in full for the first time since the accident. It didn't click, but it sounded very good. "That suits you,... I was thinking about it yesterday,... the names that came to my mind sounded awful with your first name," Martin smiled.  
Benedict smiled broadly.   
"I rather not ask which names came to your mind. My name is funny enough."  
"A little bit," Martin winked with a smile.   
"I'll just distract you now by answering the other questions," Ben grinned with Martin. "I turned 40 this year. In July, the 19th; we were shooting that day. It was a night shoot. You all waited for me on a set in the dark and then you all sang ‘Happy Birthday’ for me – and there was a firework for me. You got me tickets to a Pink Floyd concert, my favorite band. To be honest, your gift was the best by far, which is not surprising at all since you are very attentive and got me the best birthday presents and Christmas presents since we know each other. And I live in London," Ben smiled gently.   
Martin smiled at him. It felt good to know that he had apparently given him quite a big treat.  
"I've already congratulated you, ... but I can’t remember, so once again,… Happy Birthday and all the best for you, Benny," Martin beamed.   
"Thank you," Ben smiled and patted Martin's forearm.

Martin smiled at him, then bowed his head.   
"What about family?"  
Ben looked at him. He looked out of the window for a moment and then back to Martin.  
"Yes and no. I was married. Not long. I got married last year in February, but we split up at the end of March this year, and I’m already divorced. I have a son with her. He's a little bit older than a year now, but lives with Sophie in Los Angeles."  
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you tell me why you split up?" Martin asked.   
"Yes, you know the reason, you know all the reasons for the break-up. But all of that would be a bit much right now, Martin. It just wasn't what I had hoped and wished for; it just didn't work out the way I wanted it to and I was not really happy. If you feel a little better, or if you can remember again, we can talk about the details again," Ben said softly.

Martin looked at him, had listened carefully.  
"Okay. You're right, it would probably be too much right now. What's your son's name? Have I seen him yet?", Martin asked with a smile.  
Ben smiled and took his smartphone out of his trouser pocket.  
"You've already seen him in pictures," he said and opened a selfie where one could see him with his son on his arm. They were on the beach, both wearing a white T-shirt. He had taken this picture when he had been in Los Angeles a few days ago.   
He showed it to Martin.   
Martin looked at the picture, glanced at the happy, beaming little boy and the broad smiling Benedict.  
"He's quite cute," he beamed.  
"You said that the first time you saw a picture of him," Ben smiled. "His name is Christopher."  
Martin tilted his head.  
"That's my name, too."  
Ben smiled and nodded.  
"I know, Martin." He gently patted Martin's hand, took his fingers back into his hand and squeezed them briefly.  
Martin looked at him and smiled; he also squeezed Benedict’s hand briefly. 

And he held on to Ben's finger and hand as he wanted to let go.  
"Can you come over every day? I have to stay here until next Friday. Can you come over every day until I can leave the hospital? Even if it's just for a little while. You don't have to stay here for hours," Martin asked with begging, almost pleading eyes, even if he didn't want to push Ben to do so.  
Ben looked softly at him.  
"If you want me to come here every day, I'll come here every day. Whether it is for five minutes or five hours. It's always great to spend time with you. Unfortunately, so far we've only been able to enjoy it almost exclusively during work. I really like coming to see you, Martin. Especially now, to see that you're doing well."   
"I just can't remember what it was like,... but it was very nice to see you yesterday, and also today - so far it is great that you are here", Martin said with a soft smile.  
"It's lovely that I’m allowed to come back."  
"Only if you bring candy," Martin grinned.  
"The whole drawer is stuffed full with candy, Martin," Ben grinned.  
"So this will last until tomorrow afternoon," Martin smirked with a cheeky grin.

Benedict laughed heartily, gently squeezing Martin's finger again.  
Benedict's hearty deep laugh infected Martin, too. He had to laugh as well, but he pulled a face as he felt the vibration and pain in his collarbone - his head didn't thank him either.  
Benedict caressed Martin's fingers when he had calmed down.  
"I should try not to make you laugh too much. That's your job anyway."  
Martin grinned at him, not letting go of Benedict's hand. The feeling was good - it calmed him down, and it cheered him up.  
"Was it my job to annoy you too? You wanted to tell me that today."  
Ben smiled at him.  
"Hmm, that's your job too. I've annoyed you from time to time, but you're much better at it. You always made some KungFu moves in my direction when I didn't pay attention to you, but you wanted my attention. And this is just an example."  
Martin grinned gently.  
"Was it any good?"  
"Mostly." Ben winked, half-laughing.  
Martin grinned even more.

They both stared at each other, grinning, smiling more and more, looking each other in the eyes.  
Martin chewed his lower lip, bit into it.  
"There's quite a lot of black in my head and I can't recall our friendship at the moment... but I can absolutely feel that chemistry and I can understand why we became really good friends very quickly... and that we still are really good friends, Benny."  
Ben winked gently.  
"I'm glad that it was a match again. I'm sorry it's all gone, Martin. But at some point it will be back - all the important memories, all the friendships, all the experiences on sets, premieres, awards, all the experiences you made during your private life. We're all here for you and we'll help you through it. And until then we're just getting to know each other again," Ben said softly. 

Martin nodded slowly, smiled slightly. He didn't know what to say and he was glad about Benedict's gesture - his extremely attractive colleague and friend, squeezed his fingers, let his thumb caress his fingers and smiled encouragingly.  
"Can I get you anything?"  
Martin tilted his head, wondering if there was anything that would do him good.  
"A cup of tea would be nice. I only have water," Martin said after a few moments.  
Ben smiled and nodded. He loosened his hand, got up and was already walking towards the door.  
"With... ", Martin began.  
"A little bit of sugar and a bit of milk – it should look like a hazel nut brown" Ben turned his head around and smiled.  
"Yes... ", Martin smiled.  
"Something that doesn't seem to have changed in the last 16 years," Ben winked. "I'll be right back."  
Martin nodded with a soft smile.

Benedict wasn’t even gone for 10 minutes, but when he returned Martin was asleep again.   
He had fallen asleep in a sitting position, so Benedict walked to the bedside table, put down the tea, grabbed the remote control for the bed and let the backrest move back into a flat position - just as it had looked like when he had arrived.  
He wrote Martin a little note, leaned it against the cup of tea.  
And then he covered Martin up properly and caressed across the soft grey hair.  
"Sleep well, Martin," he breathed softly.  
And then he took his jacket and the basket and quietly left the room.

It wasn't until two hours later that Martin woke up again, only because a nurse came in to remove his thrombosis stocking. She also gave greetings from Benedict. And when she left the room, Martin turned his head to the bedside table.  
He took the note that was leaning against the cup of tea.

**I'm sorry I just left you. I didn't want to wake you up again.**  
And anyway, you should rest instead of talking so much.  
There's hot tea for you tomorrow evening. ;-) - Benny 

Martin smiled; he was really looking forward to seeing Benny again tomorrow evening.


	5. An old Friend

_**\- Sunday, August/14 – 2016, London, Royal London Hospital, Martin’s rooms -** _

So far Martin had been alone all day, which wasn't that bad since he had been able to sleep a little bit more. As much as he had enjoyed the visits of his mum and James, the visits of two of his siblings and his wives - it was still exhausting, because in his family a lot of things had happened in the last 16 years and to hear all about it was very exhausting.  
It was the same with Amanda; he knew her a bit, knew who she was, but for him it was as if they had only known each other for a few months but in fact it had been a few months and 16 years.   
And then there was Benedict, his colleague, a friend with whom he seemed to have an incredible chemistry - which he was feeling too, but all experiences, all memories of him were erased at the moment.  
It was hard and strange and exhausting to get told such an amount of news, whether it was about himself, his job, his family, his friends, or everything that had happened in the world in the last 16 years.

He had the feeling that his head was buzzing all the time - and to be honest he didn't do much to make it better. With his efforts to bring light into the darkness, he only made the buzzing in his head worse than it already was.  
But he didn't want to just sit here and wait; he didn't want to wait for the light to come back - he wanted to do something about it himself. Even if he always regretted it as soon as he had a really bad headache and a dizzy sick feeling shortly afterwards. He just couldn't understand how all of a sudden 16 years of memories had disappeared – why they were hiding. 

He sighed.  
Actually he had wanted to read - the book that Benedict had brought him yesterday. He had known that it would be exhausting, he had not wanted to read a whole chapter, just two pages.   
But after half a page his thoughts had drifted to Benedict and from him to Amanda, from her again to Ben, from Benedict to his profession, to his fame and then back again to Ben; he had asked himself who else he knew, had gone through a few well-known actors in his head, and had asked himself again and again whether he knew him or her personally.  
And then his thoughts had drifted back to Ben.   
He was just thinking about what they might have experienced together when there was a knock at his door and he was torn out of his thoughts.

He blinked a few times and looked at the door.  
"Yes?", he asked.   
He was a little irritated. He had just had lunch, Benedict hadn't wanted to come before 7pm and nobody else had wanted to come over today.  
The door was opened and a tall, slender man with dark blond hair, which was styled, entered the room. He had a beard, wore a necklace that disappeared into his dark t-shirt, and he had tattoos. The dark blue jeans were tight and wore sneakers.

Martin bowed his head, looked at the man who smiled at him, closed the door and then came to his bed.  
Martin was sitting in his bed, but he still had to look up to the man, who was almost as tall as Benedict.

"Simon?!", Martin asked, slightly insecure and quite surprised.

"Hey Martin," Simon smiled broadly and nodded. "Yeah, right. I think I've changed a bit."  
Martin eyed him.  
"Quite a lot... at least for me."  
He continued to eye him intensively - it was unbelievable. It was just unbelievable when he thought about what Simon had looked like at the last meeting he remembered - which for him was a few weeks ago; but in fact there was a gap from more than 16 years. He wondered when they had actually seen each other for the last time.  
A few weeks, a few months, a few years ago?  
His heart was beating faster; he was excited.

Simon hadn't been here before, he probably had a lot of new and old information for him - not to mention that he hadn't expected to see Simon; in his memories they haven’t been that close, to be honest, they didn't even like each other at the beginning.  
Simon smiled and sat down.

"It's a bit spooky and creepy, you've never eyed me this intensely before. Thank goodness I dressed up especially for you," Simon smiled, winked and patted Martin's forearm. "How are you? I have been here before, but the last time I was here you were still in intensive care and unfortunately not awake.

Martin eyed him with his blue eyes. He blinked a few times. It was incredible to see Simon – 16 years had done a lot to him, but 16 years had done a lot to himself as well.  
He looked good.  
"Sorry. I'm just amazed. Um, yeah,... well, you see how I look and the pain is not great, although the medication is helping quite well. And I'm pretty exhausted. But the worst thing is the amnesia," Martin mumbled. "You are not really present either. For me it is as if we have only known each other personally for a few years, but not really well either. And I know that we didn't really like each other at the beginning, but at least we became friends, well something like this. And we still seem to be friends, after all. Still, I'm surprised to see you. In my memories, we weren't close enough that I would have expected you to visit me."  
Simon bowed his head.  
"You really don't look very good, but unlike the last time I was here for a short time, it's a big step up, because now you're finally awake and no longer in intensive care. I’m over the moon to see you here on the ward, awake and as fine as you can be after that accident. Amanda has already told me that the surgery went well," Simon smiled, patted Martin's forearm again and then he started to smirk softly. "Yes, that's true, I thought you an annoying and terrible prick, but so did you. But then we actually became friends. And you're right, we are still friends, quite close friends," he smiled. "You have become one of my best and closest friends - and you have been that for many years now," he said proudly and joyfully about having Martin as one of his closest and best friends at his side. "We don't live that far apart, and we've been celebrating New Year's Eve together every year for a few years now, and we also meet for Christmas dinners and if it works with our schedules we meet up in between quite often, too."  
Martin needed to smile while he still eyed Simon.  
"That sounds pretty good," Martin said. "Is that the same for me – are you one of my best friends?" he asked, hoping to have confessed something like that to Simon. "And are you still just as annoying and crazy about all this science fiction stuff?", he asked with a slight grin.  
"I can answer the first question with a yes. I am also one of your best and closest friends. At least that's what you told me at our last New Year's Eve party and you always let me know by other gestures and words. The initial rejection has turned into a really great friendship of which we are both very proud. And that's exactly why I came over to visit you, of course," Simon smiled. "And yes to the second question as well, ... and you are also still as annoying, charming, cheeky and rude, as well as totally adorable," Simon grinned. "You have even improved your rudeness and impertinence. But Mr. Freeman is able to wrap it up so charmingly that everyone loves him for it. You can even present your middle finger at premieres and on the red carpet and everyone is happy about it," Simon grinned.

Martin smiled in relief as Simon answered his first question. The man sitting here with him looked very sympathetic, and similar to Ben, he could feel this deep sympathy even though most of the memories were gone, ore hiding right now.  
He had to grin when Simon had also answered the second question.  
"Are you talking about the fans?"  
Simon nodded with a grin.  
"Yeah, I'm talking about all of your fans. They are happy to hear you swearing or to see your middle finger somewhere," Simon smirked. "Speaking of fans. On Twitter... ", Simon started, but was interrupted.  
"What is Twitter?", Martin asked irritated.  
"Oh, right, you don't know Twitter. Um, it's a social platform, like F... oh, you don't know that either. Um, you don't know any of the social platforms on the internet. There are a few different ones, you don't like any of them and you're not having an account on any of these platforms. Twitter is one of them, you can share news, pictures, messages and everything else. You write it or share it on your timeline and others can follow you, read it, like it, repost it for others.”  
"That sounds absolutely like something I don't like," Martin said. "And you're registered there?"  
"Yes, I am. That way I can reach out to my fans - with pictures and news about new movies or me. Anyway, it's used a lot and a lot of your fans are getting information about what you do and how you are doing via Amanda, me, Jamie, and other friends and colleagues of yours. And they have also texted me quite often lately that I should say hello to you and that they wish you a good recovery. And they hope you get well soon. They are very concerned, and they wish you all the best."  
"Thank you... you can write 'thank you' from me," Martin said. "Do they all know what happened?"

Simon bowed his head and nodded.  
"I’ll do that. And yes, it's on all social platforms, in newspapers and all over the internet. At least the information that you had a serious accident, that you are in hospital, that you were in intensive care, and that you have been taken out of intensive care. And the Daily Mail had positioned itself in front of the hospital. Benedict seems to have told them off on Friday, but it didn't help; he said something again yesterday and today they were here again. I just told them off too, and then they left."  
"The Daily Mail still seems as awful as 16 years ago. Thank you," Martin said, then bowed his head. "You know Benedict, too?"  
Simon nodded.  
"You introduced him to me. And then I worked with him on Star Trek. A remake. He played Khan, I think you know who Khan is through the old series. And I play Scotty. We're promoting the third movie right now, but we have a couple of days off. Benedict was part of the second movie," Simon smiled gently.  
Martin nodded slowly. He dropped his shoulders - Simon knew Ben, the man he wanted to know and remember so badly.  
"Have... have you and I ever worked together?" Martin asked.

Simon nodded again.  
"We have. Four times already, but that was a while ago. Actually, it's about time we do it again - I'd like to work with you again sometime. In three of the films I made and co-wrote with Nick, who you remember, you only took on smaller roles. I got you on board because I wanted you to be a part of it since you are such a close friend. Twice you had a rather small role and once a bigger supporting role. And we made another film together, you had the leading role, I played your best friend. Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz, The World's End and the other movie is called The Good Night."  
Martin shrugged his shoulders.  
"That doesn't ring a bell," he murmured. "But it's nice to know that we've worked together on a few projects."  
Simon smiled at him.  
"I've always enjoyed working with you, too."  
Martin smiled a little bit more.

He raised his left hand and pointed to Simon's hand with his index finger.  
"You are married."  
Simon looked down at his wedding ring and then up to Martin again. The eyes were shining.  
"Yes, with Maureen. Can you remember her? I told you that we missed each other all the time. She's a publicist and we kept missing each other at appointments and then we were on holiday in the same place in Greece at the same time and we kept missing each other there as well. And then on the bus ride back to the airport we finally met," Simon's eyes beamed.  
Martin thought about it for a moment.  
"Oh yes, I still remember that. It was 2000, ... when you were on holiday in Greece. Wow, so... you're married now."  
"Yes, since 2005, you also attended the bachelor party and also the wedding. I also have a daughter. Her name is Matilda and she just turned seven. You..." Simon sighed, glanced at him gently, his voice was just as gentle and careful as his eyes. "You are her godfather, Martin. She adores you!"  
Martin's eyes got bigger and bigger. His heart began to race, his stomach contracted uncomfortably. There was a little girl whose godfather he was, who loved him and whom he had forgotten.   
He swallowed and bit his lip. He felt the lump in his throat and he felt his eyes get wet.  
He had forgotten so many relatives, had last seen them 16 years ago, or never even met them - and now there was a god-daughter who loved him.

Simon bowed his head, laid his hand on Martin's. He looked at him compassionately, could see the big wet eyes and the almost heartbreakingly sad look.  
"I'm sorry, Martin. I'm so sorry that none of this is available at the moment. I thought about taking her with me. And she would have loved to come here and visit you, but I didn't know if it might not be a little bit too much for you. I took a video of her this morning. Would you like to watch it?" Simon asked gently, squeezing Martin's hand again.  
Martin bit his lip again. He nodded slowly.  
"Hmm, ... please," he murmured sadly. 

Simon stood up a bit and pulled his smartphone out of his trouser pocket. He opened the folder with the photos and opened a picture of her and Martin.   
He showed it to him.  
Martin could see himself; the picture didn't seem old yet. He looked just like he did right now, the slightly longer grey hair - only the abrasions, the beard and the other injuries were missing. He had a little girl with long blond hair on his arm, who euphorically kissed him on the cheek.

He was already struggling to hold back the tears.  
"That was shortly after her birthday in July, you came over and she thanked you for your birthday present, ... or just cuddled and kissed you again. I can't remember, Maureen took the picture," Simon smiled , squeezing Martin's hand gently and encouragingly.   
He turned the phone towards Martin and wiped to the video.   
And then he held the smartphone in front of Martin's face.

The video began to play.

_Matilda was sitting on the couch, beaming and waving into the camera.  
"Helloooo Martin," she beamed._

The video had barely started when even the biting of the lower lip and the heavy swallowing couldn't hold back the tears.  
He had the feeling that he had never seen this girl before, even though he knew that wasn't true.  
Simon looked gently at him, he had stopped the video.  
"Shall we stop, Martin?" he asked.   
Martin shook his head, wiping away the tears that had run down his cheek.  
"No."  
"By the way, if you're embarrassed about crying, don't be. I've seen you cry several times in private moments," Simon smiled encouragingly. "And it's perfectly understandable in this situation, too."  
Martin nodded slowly.

Simon looked at him again, started the video again and put his hand back on Martin's, who had stopped wiping away his tears.

_The girl, who had just beamed and waved, now looked rather sad into the camera herself, and her shoulders also showed that she was in fact sad.  
"You must not ride the bike without a helmet, Martin! You told me that quite often when you taught me how to ride a bike. Why did you just ride without a helmet?" she asked sadly and slightly reproachful, as Martin had not followed the rules.  
She looked into the camera, still looked quite sad, her posture as well.  
"Dad didn't want me to come with him so it wouldn't be too much for you. He said, you don't know who I am any more. But I still know who you are. Beside daddy, you're the greatest man in the world. And if daddy gives me his permission, I'll marry you when I'm old enough. Whether you like it or not," she smiled cheekily now, but one could see that she was sad. "You are the greatest playmate, the greatest storyteller and story-reader, and the greatest host, because when I’m with you I always get things that are forbidden at home. Now dad's grinning because I revealed something I should have kept a secret. But you won't get into trouble, because daddy knows that he'll get into a lot of trouble with me when he tells you off," she smiled sweetly.  
She thought for a moment.  
"I'll come and visit you soon at the hospital or at home. I miss you and I love you and I wish you a speed recovery.”  
She waved and kissed into the camera._

The video stopped and the tears still ran down Martin's cheeks - inexorably and silently.

Simon put the phone down, turned his head back to Martin for a moment, but then he looked around as if he was searching something.  
On the bedside table, he found a pack of tissues. He pulled one out and handed it to Martin, who gratefully accepted it.  
Simon bowed his head, squeezed Martin's hand.   
He was really happy that Martin could remember him, but the joy of it was rather clouded by Martin’s state of health.   
There weren't many people who could trigger this in him - but Martin was one of these persons; a person who managed to trigger exactly the same feelings in him. If Martin laughed, then he needed to laugh, whether he felt like it or not was irrelevant. If Martin was grumpy, he was grumpy; if Martin was happy, he was happy. And if Martin was sad, he was sad too - and crying was part of it. He couldn't stand seeing Martin cry - it was horrible, and every time he felt a lump in his throat, every time he had to hold back his tears himself. Whether he cried in private or in a film - it didn't matter; he was absolutely receptive to Martin's emotions from total euphoria to total sadness.

He swallowed, cleared his throat, squeezed Martin's hand again.  
"Should I leave you alone, or would you like me to stay and just sit here, or tell you something, or cheer you up and distract you,... or would you like to see more pictures and videos of your future wife," Simon said gently, smiled in agony, it was hard to joke around right now.  
Martin also smiled in agony. He swallowed too, wiped his tears away, cleared his throat.  
"Um... stay. And show me more of Matilda... and then cheer me up and distract me before you go."

Simon nodded and slid closer, even sat down on the bed.  
And then Martin’s wish to hear and see more about Matilda and his wish for a cheer up and a distraction were absolutely satisfied.

The time with Simon had been everything.  
Encouraging - because someone he knew had visited him.  
Stirring, exhausting, heartbreaking, sad - because of Matilda, the stories, the pictures and videos.  
Relieving - because someone had taken away the heavy burden for a moment with distraction and encouragement, with a loveable friendship.

And when Benedict had been with him in the evening, he had actually got the promised hot tea - but he had been so exhausted that they had hardly talked.  
Martin had hardly talked; he had only drunk his tea.  
And then, lying on his back with his eyes closed, he had enjoyed Benedict's deep and dark soft voice, which had read to him from the book.

And again he hadn't noticed that Benedict had left.  
But again a message had been waiting for him.

**I would love to read you a bedtime story every night. :-) - Benny**


	6. Guardian Angel

_**\- Tuesday, August/9 – 2016, London, Royal London Hospital, Intensive Care Unit -** _

**One week previously**

Jamie stood in front of the room in which his little brother lay in a bed; he stood in the hallway, stood in front of the window, pressed his forehead against it and looked through the clear windowpane into Martin's room. 

It was almost dark in the room, there was just a small light and all the blinking medical devices.  
Martin himself lay in bed, connected to all these medical devices.  
Monitoring heart activity, blood pressure, oxygen, cerebral pressure, temperature. Painkillers were dripping through the drip right into Martin’s body.  
Martin slept, his eyes were closed, one could see the chest slowly rising and falling. The left side of his face was covered with abrasions and bruises. He was wearing a figure-of-eight bandage with a sling for his right forearm, which was placed in a plastered cast. 

The medical devices were blinking, they were doing their job since two days now.  
Jamie swallowed, dropped his shoulders - it wasn’t the first time in Martin's 44 years that Jamie visited him in hospital, but the visits in the last two days had been by far the worst.   
Martin had been in a coma until today - which had irritated the doctors; they had monitored Martin since he had been admitted to hospital and the monitoring had shown that the trauma to the skull and brain was not as severe as assumed at the scene of the accident and during the transport. It was only a moderate traumatic brain injury and with that, Martin should have woken up on the first day. 

But Martin hadn’t woken up - not on Saturday, not on Sunday and not on Monday. He had fallen into a coma, had been given artificially respiration in addition to all the intensive medical monitoring.   
Now he was no longer given artificial respiration; he was just wearing an oxygen mask for the next hours and the day tomorrow.  
A few hours ago one of the doctors had called to tell them that Martin had woken up.   
Jamie had just been at his mother's house, had wanted to pick her and James up with his brother Tim to go to the hospital with them.  
They had been told that Martin was awake and about to have his surgery.  
And Jamie had driven a little faster than usual – even so it had been clear enough that they had to wait, he had just wanted to be closer to his little brother. 

Philomena and James were sitting on the chairs in the hallway, Tim impatiently paced through the hallway, looked up again and again as soon as one of the doors opened, as soon as someone strolled through the corridor, hoping that the doctor would finally come over to give them more details - and he sighed again and again when the doctors just passed him.

Jamie just stood motionless at the glass window to Martin's room. The only thing that was still moving were his eyes that flitted back and forth between Martin and the heart and pulse monitoring device.   
He watched his brother sleep for a few moments, then had his eyes flit to the monitor to check if everything was okay. He knew that the device would give an alarm signal and that the light above Martin's room door would flash as soon as something wasn’t alright - he would hear it, he would see it if something was wrong.   
But – better safe than sorry.

Eyes flitted to Martin - Martin was asleep, his chest raised and fell.  
Eyes flitted to the monitor - pulse 74.   
Eyes flitted to Martin - Martin was still asleep, the chest continued to rise and fall.   
Eyes flitted to the monitor - pulse 70.  
Eyes flitted to Martin - sleeping and breathing brother.  
Eyes flitted to the monitor - pulse...

Jamie flinched massively when someone touched his shoulder, tearing him completely out of his own world where only Martin and this monitor had existed.  
He turned around abruptly, blinked a few times and then looked expectantly like his mother, stepfather and brother Tim to the doctor standing with them.  
Tim had touched his shoulder.  
Four hearts were racing fast and loud.  
Eight eyes were big, and looking expectantly to the doctor.  
The doctor looked at them, and it was impossible to tell whether he had bad news or good news.

He reached out his hand to everyone.  
"Good evening, we haven't met in the last few days. My name is Dr. Baker, I did the surgery your son and brother had today," he said kindly.  
The family just nodded.  
"Can you please come with me for a moment so that we can talk in private?” he said and pointed in one direction.  
Philomena nodded, stood up with James. And Tim and Jamie also followed the doctor.

They entered a smaller room that looked like it was used for meetings between doctors, nurses and other employees.  
They all sat down at the table.  
Dr. Baker looked around.  
"Well, we've already called in to tell you that Mr. Freeman has woken up today. I was able to talk to him earlier, but we'll get to that in a minute. I think the more important information for you right now is that no neurological damage has been detected. No paralysis, no speech disorders, no loss of sensory,… and so on. However, I have to tell you that neurological disorders and limitations could still occur in the next few days. But we think it is rather unlikely," he said calmly.  
One could hear the relief everyone was feeling.   
The doctor smiled gently.  
"The coma was probably just a protective reaction of his body - he actually has a moderate traumatic brain injury and we are confident that it will improve more and more in the next few days; considering how it has improved so far. If things continue to go this smoothly, we will be able to take him to the ward in the next few days," he smiled reassuringly.  
Again the relief everyone was feeling was to hear.

The doctor looked at them, waited for questions, but when he still looked into expectant faces after a few moments, he kept talking.  
"Let’s talk about the surgery. We only operated on the fracture of the femoral neck. The collarbone and wrist will heal without surgery. The surgery went well and quite smoothly, and we haven’t needed to replace the femoral head. Which means metal screws were inserted into the bone to hold it together while the fracture heals. Also these dynamic screws are attached to a metal plate that runs down the femur. As soon as he can leave the intensive care unit and is taken to the ward, he will receive a very gentle training of a few minutes per day. When he can leave the hospital, probably after two weeks, he will receive further training and will be allowed to put weight on it – partially. After that more training and he will be able to put full weight on his leg. We will remove the plate and the screws in 12 months. It’s absolutely the best outcome you can get after a fracture of the femoral neck," he smiled softly. "So far there haven’t been any complications with the surgery we did today. The nurses will do everything they can to ensure there won’t be any complications during the next two weeks."

Again, one was able to hear the relief everyone in this room was feeling, but otherwise, Jamie, Tim, James and Philomena were quiet - they just looked at the doctor, expectant, attentive, curious.

Dr. Baker rubbed his neck.  
"Let me give you a quick summary. Due to the moderate traumatic brain injury he may feel tired more quickly in the next few weeks, he may feel dizzy and nauseous sometimes, he may have headaches, sleeping problems and problems to concentrate, maybe even problems in planning, organising, things like that. Everything you have to go through after a mild concussion, it will just last a little bit longer. Therefore stress should be avoided as much as possible. In the next 6 weeks, his collarbone should be free-moving, but it will take about 3 months until he will be able to just use it as before the accident, so he should be a bit more careful until then. The wrist should be alright in 4 to 5 weeks, followed by physiotherapy. And the fracture of the neck takes up to 3 months, as I said before – it’s possible that it recovers a bit quicker but it will at least take 8 weeks before he can put full weight on it, until he can use it like before the accident.”

Jamie nodded for all the others.  
"When can we talk to him?" Jamie asked - and he would have loved to hear that he was allowed to just leave this room to wake up his little brother.  
Dr. Baker rubbed his neck again.  
"He is very tired from the surgery and from the accident, from the pain and from all the painkillers. I think he will sleep a few hours, maybe the whole night, at least I hope he can sleep the whole night. You are very welcome to visit him tomorrow. If possible, not everyone at the same time, but I think that's clear," he said. "There is something else I must tell you and what you should know before you visit him tomorrow. And you should also inform all the other visitors about this," Dr. Baker said.

The eight eyes were big again.   
Philomena played nervously with her fingers.  
James sat in the chair like a soldier, hadn’t moved yet.  
Tim sat on the edge of his chair - it was a miracle that he hadn't slid down yet.  
And Jamie also sat close to the edge, upright, tensed up, playing with his fingers.

Dr. Baker tilted his head.  
"I talked to him a bit earlier today, asked him a few things to find out what he remembers, if he knows who he is, where he is, why he is here. He could tell me where he is - at least that he is apparently in a hospital, everything else one doesn’t really need to know, like what day we have. He could also tell me that we seem to be having summer or spring when he looked out of the window. He didn't know why he is in hospital." He sighed. "I asked him to tell me his name; I asked him how old he is, what he does for a living, what year we have. And his answers were: Martin Freeman; actor for theatre, commercials, sketches, small movies; 28 years old and it's the year 2000."

A murmur.  
A gasp.  
Everyone was sitting on the edge of his chair.

"He... he can't remember... the last... 16... 16 years?" Philomena muttered with tears in her eyes.  
The doctor nodded, looking apologetically and compassionately.   
"He cannot remember the last 16 years. The memories are not gone. He just can't recall them right now. I can't tell you when he will remember - it may take a few days, a few weeks, a few months. Neither the length of time for the memory loss, nor the amount of time it takes for him to remember, depends on the severity of the injury. There are other factors that determine this and they are not always clear. There are patients with a minor head injury who have lost many years and it takes a long time for them to remember, and there are also patients with severe head injuries who had lost track of a few weeks only and who remember everything after two days. It’s different with every patient. You have to be patient with him and he with himself. You should slowly tell him what has happened over the last years, who he is, what he is doing now, who he knows. Don’t rush him. You all look 16 years older for him right now. And so does he himself," he said gently.  
He looked into shocked faces.

Philomena had tears running down her cheeks - her youngest son was in intensive care with multiple fractures and a severe retrograde amnesia.  
James sat there completely motionless and shocked again - his stepson was lying here and didn’t know himself any more.  
Tim had got up, stood at the window and ran his fingers through his hair over and over again - his little brother had switched off 16 years of his life.  
Jamie's eyes were wet too, he was still sitting on the edge of the chair, putting one arm around his mother - he hadn't taken care of his little brother, well, not good enough this time. He just wanted to go to him, hug him and never let go again. His little brother would have an incredibly hard time until the memories would be back.

Dr. Baker looked at them with compassion.  
"I'm incredibly sorry and this isn’t just a babbling. I'm incredibly sorry. I hope for all of you and also for your brother and son that he will soon be able to remember. I know it will not be easy, neither for you nor for him, but try to be patient with him and support him. I’m sure you will get a lot of support from his friends and colleagues. The memories will come back, probably not as detailed as they once were, but they will come back; he will be able to recall them," he said softly and calmly.  
He rubbed across his neck, looked at the family.  
"Your son and your brother has been very lucky. He was riding his bike without his helmet, a car was involved. And you also know that getting here was extremely difficult." He took a short breath. "It looks like he reacted very well in the moment of the accident, he apparently tried to catch the fall – with that he broke his wrist and collarbone, but probably saved his own life. None of the doctors who have treated him so far believe that he would have survived the accident or the resuscitation measures if he hadn't tried to catch his fall. The last few days have shown that he's a fighter. In context of how he was found at the scene of the accident, in what state he was during the transport and when he arrived, it’s so much better now. I'm confident he's gonna make the rest of it. And with your help and with the help of his friends, he will also learn how you grew older together, what friends he made, what films he made, what family members might be new and he will also learn again that he isn’t just a beloved and talented actor, but also a very beloved family member and friend. By the way, we will also make sure that the press won’t camp in the hospital," he said encouragingly.   
He stood up, looked around, smiled a little bit.  
"16 years is a long time, but these 16 years will come back, with conversations, with pictures, with videos - until it clicks. The broken bones will heal again; he will be able to work as an actor again, sometime next year. He will be absolutely alright again. A fall on his head, if he wouldn’t have tried to catch the fall with his arm... and the possibility of catching up 16 years would have been gone,… he might have been gone. He really was very lucky, you shouldn't forget that – maybe with that the 16 years aren’t looking to bad any more", he said compassionately.  
Out of his trouser pocket he pulled out a pack of tissues and handed it to Jamie and Philomena.  
"You can stay here for a while. I'll let you bring some water and tea and some food. You’ve been here for the last several hours and you should try to eat and drink something. Take the time you need, and if you have any questions, I'll be here all night, and the colleagues will be back tomorrow morning.”

Jamie gratefully accepted the package of tissues, pulled out one of it for his mother. He nodded thankfully to the doctor again, who left the room with an encouraging smile.

Jamie knew and understood what he had meant and Dr. Baker was right - 16 years of lost memories which would come back and a few broken bones, a slightly sleepy and unfocused Martin was much better than a little brother who wasn't alive any more. And for several longer and shorter moments this had even been the case - because during the treatment at the scene of the accident and the transport to the hospital his little brother hadn’t lived, several times.  
He swallowed hard.  
In the pas, when they had been younger, he had always comforted Martin after falling or other minor injuries - sometimes he had saved him from worse injuries or generally from an injury.   
He had protected him.  
And Martin had introduced him in a very special way when they had been children, for example on the playground:   
‘This is Jamie, my guardian angel and my big brother!’ - little Martin once said to a rather rude boy on the playground, who had wanted to give Martin a grilling - with fists and feet. 

Jamie sighed and took his mother into his arms.

Another guardian angel had probably been at work when his little brother’s accident had taken place on Sunday.

Or had it been his phone call - on Saturday afternoon, at the time of the accident?  
Had it been that call that Martin hadn’t answered?  
Had it been this call, when he had wanted to ask if he could come over to visit his little brother?  
Had he sent some guardian angels with his call?


	7. Pictures

_**\- Wednesday, August/17 – 2016, London, Royal London Hospital, Martin’ room -** _

A fresh evening breeze rushed through one of the hospital rooms at the Royal London Hospital. And it mingled with the laughter that had been filling the room cheerfully for almost an hour now – for little moments the laughter were putting all those gloomy thoughts aside.

Since a few days the evening time was the most beautiful time for Martin. Because every evening he got a visit from Benedict, a close friend of many years, whom he had met again 5 days ago.  
He felt good and comfortable with Benedict; he could also feel the chemistry between them; he could feel the magical chemistry that was hard to explain. And if one believed Benedict's comment, then five days ago they had actually been as close and comfortable with each other as they have been before Martin’s accident. Just with a few small differences - his constant apologies, his constant thank you’s, his shyness and shame.  
Something that was completely untypical for him to that extent.

Today had been an exhausting day and Benedict was a very welcome visitor.  
Not only that doctors, nurses and other employees were constantly around him, but also other visitors, who were not called Benedict, were visiting him constantly. For example his mother, his stepfather, his brothers and sister, Simon and Amanda. 

And today his publicist Caroline had shown up. She had introduced herself again, had been very sympathetic and patient, had discussed the further procedure with him, as she had not simply wanted to decide over his head.   
It had been a bit weird when she had listed all the appointments he still seemed to have left this year – three different film projects, one of them in Australia, the other two in Great Britain; several interview appointments for Sherlock; general interview appointments and photo shootings as well as different events; and appointments as a guest at several late night shows.  
It had been weird since he was able to remember his shedule of 16 years ago – and this shedule hadn’t included much more than shooting for ‘Men Only’. 

They had quickly agreed to cancel everything for the rest of the year - and Caroline had already cancelled some things anyway, at least everything concerning the rest of August, which made a lot of sense, since he would be in hospital for most of this month anyway. And for the other appointments, Caroline had been sure that they could be rescheduled if his condition changed at short notice, so that both she and the client would have some time left to plan it all over again. Cargo, the project in Australia had been postponed - they had wanted him and no one else and so they had agreed to shoot the film next spring where, according to Caroline, he would have enough time to shoot it in between Black Panther and another project. He had agreed to it. The other two projects were on hold, the producers wanted him to take part of their project, had let Caroline know that they wanted to wait how things were going, and that they otherwise would postpone their projects, too.  
Caroline had been very likeable and nice, very patient and compassionate - and she had been able to give him a little more insight into his current professional life, and yet the time had been incredibly exhausting, irritating and stirring.  
It felt new and it was hard to understand, and yet he knew that all this was not supposed to be so new and exciting for him. He seemed to have been in show business for a long time, and in fact these reshedules of appointments weren’t a new thing. And yet, in his current state, it felt exactly like this - like he was doing this for the first time ever.   
He was massively grateful and thankful for Caroline’s kind, patient and calm personality. 

Benedict sat next to Martin's bed, was very close to Martin since they were looking at pictures on Martin's smartphone. Benedict couldn't say something about every picture, but he had been able to explain some of them to Martin, at least a little bit - for example, if they showed a family member he knew well, but who, according to Martin’s current state, must be much younger.   
They had a lot of fun scrolling through the pictures - and even though Benedict gave him a lot of information while looking at these pictures, Martin still enjoyed it. There was something about Benedict that made even the most exhausting days and moments easy, calm and just good.   
It was weird to hear all those stories; it felt as if Benedict was telling stories about another person; a person he didn't know himself, but whose stories and experiences Benedict was telling him to bring this person to life with stories and pictures.

Benedict looked up, stopped with his stories. He rubbed his eyes, just had to lift his head - he couldn't just spend hours and hours of looking at a small smartphone screen.  
"Let's stop for a moment," he smiled with his dark voice.  
Martin also raised his head, nodded. He ran his fingers through his hair, then rubbed his eyes briefly.  
"Okay," he smiled and laid the phone onto his lap.

"You were talking about Caroline earlier and all the things you talked about, are you happy with what you agreed?", Ben asked with a smile.  
Martin looked at him.  
"Yeah. At least it's reasonable, right? She said, she's going to tell all those people the whole story, and that’s alright with me. I mean what’s the point of going to a film set if I have no idea who I am, how I have worked, in which way I’ve delivered a character or a scene. What is the point of going to an interview if I have no idea what the answers to the questions are. I mean, one could probably work that out together, but then I just say something I didn’t even know myself - that would probably look and sound very strange and staged. Or was it a stupid deal?" he asked with an insecure voice.  
Benedict smiled, shook his head.  
"No. I didn't want to make you feel insecure about it. I just wanted to know how you feel about it. You've told me about Caroline many times and I've met her personally. Caroline's great. And I know that you appreciate her a lot. You're very happy with her and you haven't even complained about her in any way or gotten upset about her ever since you work with her. You are very geared to the needs of her, and she’s very geared of the needs of you. You complement each other very well and know exactly what is important to the other and what he needs, dislikes and likes. And she wouldn't suggest anything to you just because it's easier and more relaxed for her, or something you wouldn't agree with without a memory gap," he smiled. "As far as you told me, she’s working for you in a way not many publicists work – it’s about you and only you; not about the public or what’s easier for her, it’s always just about you. As far as I know, she would never ever do something you don’t want just because it would make her job easier, put you into a better light or would make you more popular or anything like this. I’m sure she has given it a lot of thoughts and is trying to find something you would also agree to completely and feel comfortable with if you could still remember the last 16 years," he said reassuringly. "That was a good decision, Martin. And you can absolutely rely on Caroline."  
Martin looked relieved, nodded.  
"And it's really that easy to simply reshedule an appointment?” he asked.  
"If people know why you have to cancel these appointments, they certainly won't look for a new guest right away, but try to do it last minute - at least for the late night shows, or they just try to switch you to another date, and another colleague who fits will get your appointment. And it will be the same with your other appointments. I’m also having a publicist who’s planning all my appointments, Martin. I’m not a publicist, but I know that they try a lot of things if there's no other way and you're important enough for them to make this effort worth the work. And they won't let Martin Freeman stepping back from his show appearances, interviews or photo shoots that easily. They will try to do everything to get you on the show, to get the interview with you or the photo shoot, or whatever it is," Ben smiled and winked. "I mean even Cargo has been postponed because they want you to be in it; they are waiting for you. And the others producers of the other two projects have just e-mailed her because the accident was in the newspaper. They don't know about the memory gap, yet - but they already emailed her that they would like to wait before she cancels your appearance, and that they would also be up to postpone it if necessary - I think with the whole story, they'll still wait and postpone it when necessary,”, he smiled softly and winked again. “ And they're all hungry for Sherlock interviews anyway, so it won't be a big problem with the interviews and Late Night Shows. If they want to have an interview, they will know how to deal with it. I think they have to deal with other really short term cancellations or worse situations, Martin. Don't worry about that; Caroline will take care of it," he patted Martin's hand soothingly. "Your decision was good, Martin. Maybe some things are running away from you, but I think most of it will just be postponed. You should get back on your feet for now, kiddo. Everything else doesn't matter to you right now, because there are other people who are in charge and they'll help you."  
Martin sighed, nodded again. He breathed in and out felt more secure again with what he had agreed to today.

Ben smiled and winked again.  
"Shall we take a look at your pictures again?" he asked.  
Martin smiled again; he nodded and took his phone.   
He unlocked it and they started a second round of looking through all of his pictures.

They had worked their way through the pictures on Martin’s smartphone and when they were done with all his pictures, they had started to look through Benedict’s pictures.  
They weren’t looking at every single picture, but every picture that was related to them, to Martin – and sometimes Ben showed him a picture of Christopher or of projects he had been working on recently.

As lovely as it was to look at these pictures with Benedict, to listen to Ben's stories and sometimes to laugh with him, it embarrassed him to have forgotten all of that; it embarrassed him that he wouldn’t have been able to say anything to the pictures if Benedict hadn’t told him anything about them, that it weren’t his own memories but just something Ben had told him; it was embarrassing that it didn’t click while he saw a picture or listened to a story.   
Still he didn't want to stop looking at these pictures - it was far too good to hear the stories from Benedict, and to laugh with him sometimes. It was great to hear him laugh, it was great to hear him talk and see his gestures and facial expressions. Because the pleasant dark voice, the sparkling eyes, the charming smile, the cheeky grin, the warm laugh, all this made him smile too, all this made his eyes sparkle too, all this made him grin cheekily and laugh heartily too - even if laughing was quite painful.  
As much as the pictures embarrassed him, they also cheered him up.

Ben stopped at one picture.  
It showed a selfie of Ben and Martin. In the background there was of a stone house, apparently the sun was shining, too. His hair was styled neatly; he wore a dark blue polo shirt, smiled broadly and cheerfully; his eyes sparkled. Benedict’s cheek leaned against his; he grinned cheerfully, seem to be in a good mood; his eyes sparkled, too; his dark hair was styled as well and a beard adorned his cheeks; he was dressed with one of his favourite shirts in blue.   
Benedict had wrapped his arm around Martin's neck, just as if he had dragged him into the picture for the selfie.

"When was that taken?" Martin asked smiling.  
He liked the picture pretty well.  
"That was in May. Amazingly, we both had no appointments for that weekend and you invited me, or rather we agreed to meet at your place," Ben smiled.  
"And what did we do back then? I haven’t wanted to take this selfie, right?" he grinned.  
Ben grinned boldly.  
"That's right, you had called an Italian restaurant to order some takeaway. You had just sat down. I asked for a Selfie, and you were trying to start an argument why we have to take a selfie," Ben grinned, infecting Martin with it. "I agreed with you and said we could just do it later. And when you had stopped grumpily jabbering about it, I simply pulled you into the picture. Oh, and we just had a nice dinner and then we talked and had a few drinks," Ben smiled again and rubbed his neck nervously for a moment.

Martin grinned to him.  
"You tricked me into this picture, but it’s a beautiful one. I like it. Great that we had time to meet. Did we have a nice evening?", he asked, now smiling.  
Ben rubbed his neck again, cleared his throat.  
"Yes, it was a great that we have been able to spend the evening together. And you're right, the picture turned out very great," he nodded to confirm. He scrolled on, showing the next Selfie. "Convince yourself of the quality of the evening," Ben smiled.

Martin looked back down to the smartphone, bowed his head.  
Another selfie.  
His grey hair looked wild, bags were under his eyes, cheeks slightly reddened, eyes shining and sparkling - not only because of the cheerfulness, but especially because of the alcohol. He beamed into the camera tired and drunk, this time with his arm around Ben.   
They seemed to be sitting somewhere else.  
Benedict wore only a white T-shirt, which had been hidden under the blue shirt. His hair also looked wilder, bags under his eyes, slightly reddened cheeks. His eyes were also sparkling and shining; he was looking tired and drunk, too.  
Martin smiled into the drunkenly grinning faces.  
"We seem to have been quite drunk," he grinned at the picture.  
"Oh yes... first wine, then whiskey - until the bottle was empty. When you took the picture, we were waiting for my taxi to take me back to London. This is in front of your house on the bench," Ben smiled. "To be honest I still owe you a bottle of whiskey."  
Martin smiled.  
"Was it your fault we started with the whiskey?"  
"Well, yes. I started it somehow,” Ben rubbed his neck, but smiled at the same time.  
"Then you really owe me a bottle of whiskey," Martin grinned. "Or maybe I'll let it go - for some bedtime stories," he winked.  
Ben smiled at him, winked at him too.  
"Deal."

They both smiled at each other, and then they were looking at the pictures again.


	8. Bedtime Stories

_**\- Sunday, August/21 – 2016, London, Royal London Hospital, Martin’s room -** _

Benedict opened the door to Martin's room with the help of another relative who belonged to the room opposite Martin’s.  
"Thank you very much, that’s very kind," Benedict smiled at the man who had opened the door for him.  
The man smiled at him; he nodded and when Benedict stepped into the room, he even closed the door for him.  
Martin looked up from his smartphone and his eyes immediately began to sparkle warm and happy when he saw Benedict - Benedict, with a steaming cup of black tea with milk and sugar and a book in his other hand.  
"Benny!" Martin beamed and put the phone on the bedside table.

Ben smiled softly, walked to him, put cup of tea and the book onto the bedside table.  
He squeezed Martin's shoulder - gently and welcoming. And he also rubbed softly across Martin’s upper arm.  
"Hey Martin. You look better than yesterday," Ben smiled, took off his thin summer jacket and hung it over his chair.  
Martin raised his hand, briefly caressed Benedict’s forearm as he sat down.  
"I've slept much better... a bit longer. And today I was able to rest more throughout the day. No examinations, no training, just the usual morning ritual, lunch and dinner. You're also the first visitor today. It's nice not to have everyone knocking at my door."  
"I'm glad you’ve been able to rest a little bit more today, I can really see that. Even though I'm sure everyone is very happy to come here and see you’re doing alright," he smiled.   
Martin nodded smiling.  
"Hmh, I would probably come to visit them all the time, too - but now I realise how exhausting these visits can be. I can sleep less and then I hear new things again and again, stuff I can’t recall myself but should be able to. I mean, it's kind of good to be told all these things, but it's incredibly exhausting."  
Ben caressed Martin’s shoulder.  
"I can understand that, Martin. Would you rather be alone?" he asked.  
"No!" Martin said very quickly. "No, I don't want to be alone. I like it when you are here. I like that you are here every day."  
Ben bowed his head and smiled, caressed Martin’s shoulder again.  
Martin smiled at him, grateful for the touch that somehow immediately made him feel better.

He actually had less headaches today, he hadn't been nauseous all the time and he had only felt the dizziness for a short time. Nevertheless, he was still incredibly tired and he wasn’t able to concentrate on what he was doing for a long time - it was too much of an effort, too exhausting.  
"Could you pass me the tea, please," Martin asked smiling.  
Benedict handed him the tea, which Martin gratefully accepted and sipped carefully.  
Martin nodded to the book, swallowing the tea.  
"Let's exchange cup for book."  
Benedict nodded with a smile and reached out his hand.  
Martin handed him the cup again and in return Benedict handed him the book.

Martin took it in his left hand and read the title.  
"The Hobbit... I know that book. I have read it before," Martin smiled. "It is great. Thank you very much," Martin said with a big smile.  
"Is there anything else you remember when you see this book?" Ben asked softly.  
Martin shrugged his shoulders.  
"I read it during the last summer holidays of my school years, completely. My mother was angry because I didn't eat breakfast with her, didn't eat lunch with her and didn't sit at the table in the evening either - but she brought every meal to my room, telling me very grumpily that she won’t bring more food upstairs just because I can’t stop reading – and when it was about time for the next meal, she brought my meal upstairs again, telling me very grumpily again that she won’t come upstairs again, she did anyway, and was telling me off every time and telling me she won’t come upstairs again," Martin grinned.  
Benedict started to laugh.  
"I didn't know that story."  
Martin grinned gently at him and put the book in his lap.

He bowed his head and looked at Ben.  
"You asked as if there is something else I should remember about that book, ... is there anything I should remember?" he asked and looked at Benedict - expectantly.  
Ben bowed his head, the grin and smile vanished from his face. He looked at Martin - gently.  
"The book was adapted to a movie a couple of years ago," Ben gave a hint. "Does Peter Jackson mean anything to you?" Benedict asked.  
Martin looked down at the book, then back at Benedict.  
"I know he is a director. And he has started to shoot Lord of the Rings. Did he also make a movie of The Hobbit?", Martin asked with a smile.  
"Yes, exactly. There is a Lord of the Rings trilogy as well as a Hobbit trilogy, both directed by Peter Jackson. Peter is a friend of yours," Ben smiled softly.  
"How do we know each other? Did I get a role in that one?", Martin asked and pointed to the book.  
Benedict nodded with proud eyes.  
"Yes, you did. He wanted to have you in his film, and you accepted immediately. And then you and Caroline realised that it wouldn’t work since you were already signed up for the second season of Sherlock. You had to cancel The Hobbit. He looked for someone else, but he couldn’t find someone who was as good as you; he was absolutely enthusiastic about you, hadn’t been able to sleep for days because he couldn’t find one who was at least close enough to your performance. So, a few weeks later he called Caroline. He asked if you would still be up for it, if he would allow you to return to the UK to shoot for Sherlock in between, then coming back to New Zealand doing more for the Hobbit. You accepted; you went to New Zealand for a few months, then you came back and we were shooting for Sherlock, and then you went back to New Zealand," Ben smiled.

Martin tilted his head; he looked at Ben, then closed his eyes, chewed on his lower lip. He searched his memories - searched through the last few years, searched Peter Jackson, searched the Hobbit, searched New Zealand. But all he found were memories of a director named Peter Jackson whom he didn't know personally; all he found were memories of reading the Hobbit and quarrelling with his mother; all he found were insignificant facts and pictures about New Zealand. He could not remember ever having spoken to Peter, he could not remember shooting for The Hobbit and in his memories he had never been to New Zealand.   
He squeezed his eyes together; he really tried hard to remember at least one little thing, but he found nothing - all he felt was a headache, a lump in his throat and a hand gently caressing his hand and squeezing it.  
His eyes opened when he felt the touch.

Benedict looked at Martin. His eyes flitted across Martin's face, his hand squeezing Martin's again.  
"That just gives you a headache, Martin." He caressed across Martin’s hand. "I'll give you your tea, and then I'll tell you a bit about it."  
Martin sighed, looked Benedict in the eyes and then briefly at their hands - he liked the caressing very much; Benedict's touch was very pleasant, the warmth of his skin too; he liked the touch, because it calmed him down and cheered him up a little bit.  
"Okay... ", he murmured devotedly - he wouldn’t be able to do more thinking right now anyway, his head was buzzing like crazy.   
Benedict grabbed the cup of tea again, from which Martin had sipped twice; he handed it to him.   
"Thank you," Martin murmured dejectedly.  
“You’re welcome," Ben said softly. "Don't expect too much, Martin. You put yourself under far too much pressure. We'll tell you who you are, what you did, who we are, everything we've experienced until it clicks again at some point," Ben said in a calm voice.   
"What if it won’t click at some point…" Martin asked with a very insecure voice.  
"Since when do you give up that quickly?", Ben answered the question with a smile and a question.  
Martin shrugged his shoulders; he sighed, swallowed and sipped his tea.  
"Let's... let's change the subject, Benny. Please. Can you tell me something about this film? Who was I?" Martin asked. 

They really needed to change the subject; he didn't want to think too much about his memory loss, it would only make the lump in his throat bigger and bigger and his eyes wetter and wetter. He couldn’t let himself be comforted by his visitors every day. He didn't want to cry in front of Benedict again, even though he had comforted him excellently the last times - maybe he should think about letting the tears run down his face, the comforting of Benny had been quite lovely. All the soft words, the soft touches, the gentle, somewhat awkward hugs. It was for sure wonderful to be hugged by him when one wasn't tied to the bed with a cast, a sling and a figure-of-eight bandage. Without that he would be able to feel even more of him, to smell even more of this great perfume Ben was using, to smell even more of Benedict’s very own scent.  
He blinked several times when he heard Benedict's pleasant dark and deep voice again.  
"You are dreaming, Mr. Freeman," Benedict winked at him.  
"Sorry. What did you just say?", Martin asked apologetically.  
"Nothing yet, but it was obvious you were dreaming." Ben smiled. "No need to apologise again, just drink your tea," Ben winked.  
Martin smiled a bit, sipped his tea as ordered.

"As I said, it was a trilogy. Quite long movies," Ben smiled. "You were in all three of them because you were the Hobbit. You played Bilbo Baggins. And you were a fantastic Bilbo. The role couldn't have been cast better - not only Peter, but the fans thought so too. And I agree. The part was perfectly cast with you. I've always raved about you as the Hobbit in countless interviews," Ben beamed softly and proudly.  
Martin looked at him, he was surprised and astonished.  
"I played Bilbo? The leading role?", Martin asked as astonishingly as he looked like.  
"Who would fit better than you? You love your home, you love food and you're short," Benedict grinned broadly at the end.  
Martin had to grin, too.  
"You're lucky I can't really fight you."

Benedict laughed.  
"We all love you just the way you are. To appease you a little bit more, I should actually have a picture of this on my phone," he winked. "We seem to have skipped it when we looked through them the last time."  
And while Martin grinned at Benedict, the taller one of them pulled his phone out of his trouser pocket.  
Martin sipped his tea again and over the rim of the cup he watched Benedict, who scrolled through his photos - he watched him, let the blue eyes flit over Benedict's gentle and concentrated face; over the dark and short hair, over the eyes and the prominent cheekbones, over the nose and the specially shaped lips. He smiled to himself as Benedict slid a little closer and held the phone in front of his face.

One could see Martin and Benedict; Martin was dressed as a hobbit, Benedict was wearing a grey t-shirt. They were sitting in a trailer, apparently with their arms around each other. Martin beamed and winked charmingly into the camera, Benedict next to him just beamed as if it was the best thing to sit next to Martin and do a selfie with him. 

Martin tilted his head, smiled softly to himself, his eyes were shining and sparkling.  
"A great picture. Can you send it to me? I don't have it. Somehow I don't have a picture of the Hobbit time on my smartphone - at least we haven't seen any when we looked through them," Martin beamed to Ben. "And I hope that's a wig on my head. You're on the set, ... were you also a part of it or just visiting me?", Martin asked with beaming eyes.  
"I'll send it to you and I can send you some more. Maybe you have already saved your hobbit pictures on your laptop," Ben smiled - it was great to see Martin relaxed for this moment. "And yes, it's only a wig," he grinned with a wink. "The hair and make-up department has turned the old man into a 15-year-old boy, at least you look like one," Ben laughed softly and he had to laugh even harder when Martin started to laugh too.   
Martin laughed, holding his stomach - for the moment he seemed absolutely carefree.  
Benedict laughed with his dark voice, gently squeezing Martin's left shoulder.  
"Okay, jokes aside, little Hobbit. I was in the second and third film. Actually I was in the first one too. I spoke Smaug and the Necromancer. I was in Peter's studio for a while and was doing Motion Capture on my own; you can read about it yourself, it’s a technique of filming some stuff. And then I was right on the set in a little closet and did the dubbing again," Ben smiled.  
"Oh, then we practically played a scene together... at least Bilbo talks to Smaug in the book. You must have been a great Smaug," Martin smiled.  
"At least back then you told me you thought I was a great Smaug," Ben smiled. 

Martin's eyes were shining and sparkling with a warm touch; he sipped at the tea again, then put the empty cup away.  
He glanced at Benedict.  
"Benny?", he asked with a very charming and soft warm voice, his eyes were looking up to Ben warm and puppy-like.  
"Hm?", Ben asked, and with that look Martin gave him, he knew already that he would answer Martin's question with yes, no matter what wish he had in mind right now.  
"Can you read this book to me like the one before?" Martin asked with his charming warm voice and his puppy eyes - more unconsciously than consciously.  
"If that's what you want, I'd be happy to read the book to you," Ben smiled.  
"Can we start today?" Martin asked almost pleadingly and the deep blue eyes still looked puppy-like.  
"How could I refuse you any wish when you look at me like that," Ben winked.  
Martin beamed, winked charmingly - even if the pleading and adorable puppy-eyed look hadn't been intentional.  
"Good to know."  
Ben grinned softly.

Martin smirked.   
He grabbed the remote control of the bed, put himself into another position, so that he would be able to lie down. He rubbed his palms over his eyes.  
He was tired, bedded his head on the pillow, rubbed across his stubble - the day before yesterday he had shaved in bed.  
Meanwhile Benedict had moved the bedside table and his chair, and was now sitting right next to the bed, as if he was sitting next to Martin in the bed. He had taken the book from Martin's lap and was opening it right now.   
Martin turned towards Ben, looked up at him with a smile, his eyes still warm and blue, beaming at his visitor in adoration and adorableness.

"Ready?", Ben asked.  
"Yes, ready, Benny," Martin beamed up.

Ben smiled at him, gave him another gentle wink and then turned his head towards the book.  
With his deep voice he began to read.

"In a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms an an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort. It had a perfectly… ”


	9. Hands

_**\- Monday, August/22 – 2016, 07.30 am, London, Royal London Hospital, Martin’s room –** _

The sun was shining into the room, was shining through the unclosed curtains. It lit up the room where Martin was lying in bed.  
Martin was awake for about half an hour now.  
His head was turned to the side, a smile lay on his face and his eyes were tiredly looking at the man sitting next to his bed.   
Benedict.

Benedict was sitting next to his bed; he was leaning back in his chair like a melting pudding; his legs were stretched out, his eyes were closed, his chest rose and fell evenly.   
He was asleep.  
And Martin didn't want to wake him up. Now he had the chance to watch Benedict sleep.  
The dark shorter hair, and he know knew that it was normally a reddish auburn brown, looked slightly dishevelled - maybe he had run his fingers through his hair a few times last night.  
His facial expression was relaxed and Martin wondered what colour his eyelids were hiding right now. He wondered if he had always been so fascinated by Benedict's eyes. Now he definitely was - he was completely fascinated by those eyes; and not only by Ben's eyes, but also by those prominent cheekbones and the interestingly shaped lips. And he was also very fascinated by the muscly, tall and elegant body.  
This man, his friend and colleague Benedict, looked outrageously attractive. A new question haunted his mind. Had he been in love with him? And the next question came up. Had there ever been more than friendship? Right now, he wouldn't mind if something had happened between them, whether it was a kiss or sex - although he would probably be incredibly annoyed and grumpy about the fact that he wouldn't be able to remember it right now.

His gaze flitted along Benedict's body, down to his arm and Benedict's hand.  
He looked at two hands - he was holding Benedict's hand. He had loosened his grip a little, but when he woke up he had held on to it as if his life depended on it. Probably Ben had wanted to say goodbye last night, and he had just grabbed Ben's hand so he wouldn't leave, so he would stay with him - all night long.  
And Benedict had stayed.

Martin had not let go of his hand.  
He was still holding Benedict's hand because the feeling of holding that hand was very pleasant and welcome. That big and warm hand and those elegant fingers felt great.   
He looked up to Ben with his blue eyes, back to their hands and slowly and carefully entangled their fingers.  
His eyes then flitted back up to Ben - the eyes were still closed, but he could feel Benedict's thumb now caressing his little finger.

As much as he loved his family and as happy as he was about all the visitors he still knew and about the visitors he didn't know at the moment - by far the best and greatest visitor was Benedict.   
Although he had met him for the second time only a few days ago, Benedict was the one he loved to have with him the most. He wouldn’t mind if Ben would stay the whole day, whether he said something or not. Ben's presence was absolutely pleasant, reassuring and uplifting – just wonderful and magical.   
Ben managed to cheer him up again, to make him laugh, grin and smile. He could calm him down, get him back with the feet on the ground when he tried too hard to get his memories back, if he was angry and sad and upset. He calmed him down massively.  
Ben was a great visitor. He looked forward to seeing him every day - to his stories, to his smile, to his laugh, to his voice, to his bedtime stories, to the tea he brought with him - and every day he couldn’t wait to see what eye colour would beam at him.  
Silver, grey, green, blue, mixed, all of them at once, with that golden touch?

Benedict moved; he circled his shoulders, sighed, hummed a little bit, then circled his head.   
The eyelids fluttered open - he looked around for a short moment, raised his free hand, rubbed it across his aching neck, then across his eyes, and then he ran his fingers through his hair before turning his head towards Martin. He held his hand over his mouth, yawned.  
Martin looked up at him - he was lying on his back, his head still turned towards Ben; he looked tired, too, his hair was a bit more tousled than Ben's.  
He smiled.  
"You're still here," Martin muttered with a smile - and one could hear how much he liked it that Benedict had been here all night.

Benedict winked tiredly.  
"You didn't let me go," Ben smiled. "You fell asleep during my bedtime story. I wanted to leave. I kind of said good night and goodbye and then you grabbed my hand," he kept smiling. "You must have somehow heard and felt that I was about to leave because you mumbled: Stay," Ben said gently. "So I stayed."  
Martin felt his warm red cheeks and the burning red ears.  
"Sorry."  
"It's all right, Martin. I could have left if I'd wanted to. But I stayed. I'm happy to stay, Martin." His thumb caressed across Martin's little finger; he sat up a little bit more. "Did you wake up like that or did you take my hand again?" Ben smiled.  
"We... seem to have slept hand in hand all night,... I just positioned my hand a little bit different," Martin mumbled. "Have we ever... have we ever held hands before?", Martin asked.  
"Not in private. At work, yes.", Ben smiled. "Handcuffed." he grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. 

Martin had to grin sleepily.   
Benedict made no attempt to let Martin’s hand go.  
Martin looked up at him.  
"Benny?... I have a question. ...You told me we both know from each other that we're bisexual, although it’s not confirmed. Um... was there ever anything between us? A kiss or sex or whatever?” he murmured.   
Ben tilted his head, looked down at Martin.  
He shook his head.  
"No, we never kissed and we never had sex," Ben smiled. "We're just very close friends, we have an amazing and wonderful chemistry, I always rave about you in interviews even when it doesn't fit the topic and you're always touching me somewhere, probably to tell me all the things I say in my raving interviews about you - but it was never more. So, nothing more has ever happened between us than what very good friends do with each other," he smiled softly. "Simon is the one who's always touching and kissing you," he added with a soft smirk.  
Martin looked at Ben's face, his eyes flitted over the sleepy expression.  
"Okay," Martin nodded. "And have we ever talked about this before?", he kept asking.  
"About kissing and having sex?" Ben asked.  
Martin nodded again.  
"We talked about kissing once - but that was actually in terms of our professional relationship. It was about a kiss between Sherlock and John. If we could imagine kissing each other. And we both agreed that we wouldn't mind kissing the other one," Ben smiled. "But we never talked about a private kiss, or about sex," Ben smiled.

While Ben had been talking, he had started to play with Martin’s fingers, and Martin had joined him by playing with Benedict’s fingers.

Martin’s heart was beating a few beats faster.   
"Because of all this gay stuff in the show you told me about?" Martin asked.   
They had talked about it - about all the homosexual allusions in the show. That had also been the moment when he had first heard the names Steven and Mark again. But unfortunately it hadn't rang a bell either, even though Ben had shown him pictures, even though Ben had told him so much about them. He absolutely couldn't remember this Mark or this Steven. They hadn't been here yet, but they had already sent greetings through Benedict several times. And they had both texted him, too. They had apologized that they hadn't visited him yet, but had promised to visit him at home as soon as he would feel a little better. They had texted that they didn't want to overstrain him and that surely enough unknown faces had already stopped by. And they were right. Probably it would be too much for him right now. He wouldn’t be in hospital for ages and they wouldn't run away from him - he still had time to get to know them again.

Benedict smiled and nodded.   
"Exactly. Mark and Steven had made an enquiry, and then you and I had a chat about it."  
Martin continued the play with Ben’s fingers, as did Ben, they both didn’t stop.  
Benedict looked down with a smile, then wiggled his eyebrows and began to grin.  
"Why do you ask? Do you want to be seduced by me sometime?", he winked.  
Martin's cheeks turned red again. He looked at Ben speechlessly and even shyness sparkled in his eyes.  
Ben laughed gently, squeezed Martin's hand.  
"Why are you looking at me like this?"  
"Why are you asking me that right now?" Martin asked. "You can't ask me something like that when I have no idea what we have already talked about," Martin defended himself.  
Ben grinned broadly, briefly loosened his hand and ran his fingers through Martin’s, styling his grey hair a little bit.  
"I'll ask you again when the memories settled down in your pretty head again."  
Martin's eyes fluttered shut automatically - he loved it when one played with his hair, and Ben was very good at it. His hand and fingers felt fantastic, and the compliment had been quite nice too. He cleared his throat as he was about to purr like a cat.  
"Yes, ... then you can ask me again," he muttered and opened his eyes clumsily again.  
Ben winked at him, pulled his hand back.

Their hands found each other again.  
Neither of them had thought about it, they had simply intertwined their fingers again.  
Their thumbs caressed the back of the other hand.   
And if they both would have said what they were thinking, they both would have admitted that they were enjoying holding hands with each other.

Their intimate togetherness was disturbed when the door to the room was opened.  
One of the nurses entered the room.  
"Oh," she smiled as she spotted Benedict. "Good morning."  
Benedict squeezed Martin's hand again, then he pulled his hand back.  
"Morning," he smiled.  
"Morning," Martin nodded slightly.  
The nurse smiled and came closer.  
"Visitor this early or still a visitor?", she smiled.  
"Still visitor," Martin smiled.  
The nurse smiled, then looked at Ben.  
"It’s already terrible sitting in these chairs for 30 minutes at meetings - how did you survive a whole night, Mr. Cumberbatch?" she asked with a smile.  
"I've been sitting on chairs which were even more uncomfortable than that one," Ben smiled and then got up.   
The nurse grinned.  
Ben smiled down at Martin, squeezed his shoulder, gently squeezed his hand.  
"I'll come back tonight, okay?"  
Martin looked up.  
"Okay," he smiled.  
"Can I get you anything?"  
"I think, you covered in chocolate, would be enough," Martin winked cheekily.  
Ben grinned broadly, as well as the nurse in the background.  
Ben patted Martin's hand again.  
"I'll bring myself and I’ll try to sneak in some more chocolate for you, too," he winked.  
"Fantastic," Martin grinned.

They smiled at each other.  
And then Benedict walked to the door.

"Bye," he smiled at the nurse.  
"Goodbye, Mr. Cumberbatch," she smiled.  
Ben raised his hand again, said goodbye to Martin again.

And then, Ben was gone.

The nurse walked over to Martin.  
"If it wouldn’t be August already, he could have actually brought himself covered in chocolate," she smiled. "Has he told you about the chocolate cumber-bunny for the Easter-time?" she asked Martin.  
Martin looked at her curiously.  
"No, he hasn't. You could tell me the story," he smiled curiously.  
The nurse was beaming enthusiastically.  
"Excellent! I had one - my friends thought I was crazy when I told them back then. I hope you will see it differently later," she grinned.  
Martin grinned too, waited excitedly.

And then the nurse told him everything about the chocolate cumber-bunnies during the morning ritual.   
She told him about it in detail - and Martin had a lot of fun on a Monday morning.


	10. A Forgotten Secret

_**\- Monday, August/22 – 2016, 10.10pm, London, Hammersmith, Benedict’s house, living room -** _

Half an hour ago Benedict had returned home.  
He had turned on the telly, but he wasn’t paying attention to it any longer.  
Like every evening in the past few days since he had returned from Los Angeles, he had been visiting Martin - he had spent the night in the hospital, but as he had not wanted to miss the evening visit, he had visited Martin again. Besides, he had promised it to Martin; and he had needed to bring him the obligatory hot tea, as well as the chocolate promised in the morning, and afterwards he had read to him again - this time Martin had not fallen asleep.  
But he had complained grumpily because Benedict hadn't brought him a cumber-bunny - they had both laughed about it, and Benedict had quite like it to see Martin grumpy and hearing him swear, instead of being a shy and polite gentleman.

He had used the tube to get home, had showered, had changed his clothes and then he had laid down on the sofa to watch TV.   
Actually he had wanted to fly to Greece next week for his holidays, but he had changed his mind at short notice.   
He would stay in London, where he would be able to relax, too - and the weather was pretty good at the moment anyway. On top of that he could visit Martin. He probably wouldn't find any relaxing minutes during his holidays anyway and would text Martin every 5 minutes via WhatsApp to make sure that everything is alright.  
Martin was absolutely worth cancelling the holiday - and when Martin was back home, he could visit his little Watson in Potters Bar. 

He wasn’t paying attention to the television programme due to a text Martin had sent him, or to be precise, it had been two messages.

_**I wanted to thank you for reading a bedtime story to me again. It’s great to listen to your voice, I could do that all day, Benny. No matter if you read the boring hospital rules or Hannibal Lector. I don't know if I've told you this before, but you have a very pleasant voice.** _

He had thanked Martin.

_**Sleep well, Benny. I'm looking forward to tomorrow night - to the tea, to a bedtime story and especially to you.** _

And he had wished him a good night and sweet dreams, too -he hadn't put the phone down since texting him back.   
He played with it, just with the phone in his hand, not with any of the apps.

Martin.  
Martin, who had asked him in the morning if there had been more than just friendship between them.  
Martin, who had asked if they had ever talked about sex.  
Martin, who had blushed at his seduction question and didn't even look averse - or maybe he had only seen what he had wanted to see.  
Martin and his charming flirting.  
Martin, with whom he had actually agreed to stop flirting, even if it was just for fun.  
Martin, who really hadn’t flirted with him in the last several months.  
Martin, who now knew nothing about all of this and their deal.

Benedict sighed and before he knew it, he closed his eyes and sank into a daydream.

\----------Daydream----------

He sat on Martin's terrace, looked into his empty whiskey glass - into his second empty whiskey glass.  
They had managed to meet this the weekend - neither of them had planned anything this weekend, neither privately nor professionally. And so they had taken the chance and arranged to meet at Martin's place for pizza, pasta and wine, meanwhile whiskey. At the moment they were in the middle of filming Sherlock and it was great to see each other again during work. They had already shot a part of it; it was now early May, but they would shoot until early August and that meant they could spend a few more weeks together before Martin would fly to Australia at the end of August.

They have already ordered food, they have already eaten and they have already finished a bottle of red wine - and now they were enjoying whiskey, on the terrace in Martin's garden.  
Martin looked at him with a smile.  
"Another one? Or something else?", Martin asked with a smile.  
"Hmm, I think I'll have another whiskey," he smiled to Martin, who already got up.  
"I'll be right back," Martin winked before he disappeared into the living room.  
He looked at Martin and sighed.

He was drunk enough to have enough courage to speak today about something that was on his mind, heart and stomach since quite a long time. And the third whiskey would strengthen his courage a little bit more.  
He really needed to talk to Martin.

Martin came back with the whiskey, filled up his own glass again, sat down with him again and handed him the whiskey.  
He smiled thankfully at Martin, then turned the glass in his hand and looked back at his Watson.  
Martin raised one eyebrow.  
"What’s up, Sugarnut? You look... relaxed and happy, and somehow quite thoughtful and tensed up. I can't quite tell what’s going on in your head, but I’ve the feeling that something isn’t alright," Martin smiled.  
He bit his lower lip after Martin's comment.  
"I would like to talk to you about something. It's been on my mind for a while now, but so far I haven't found the courage to talk to you about it. But I just have to get rid of it now," he said with a tense voice.

Martin sat up, turned more towards him on his garden chair, smiled softly and cheerful.  
"I'm here and ready to listen, Ben."  
He also turned more towards Martin, looked at him. His heart was beating fast and loud; his belly was tingling like crazy; his knees were soft and he was more than happy that he was sitting.  
"I'll... I'll just say it before I talk and talk and talk, and haven’t said it in the end," he murmured and Martin nodded with a soft and attentive smile. And before he opened his mouth again, he gulped down the whiskey. "I fell in love with you, Martin, when we shot season two of Sherlock,... and... and I still am."

Silence.  
Unbearably loud silence.

Martin sat on his garden chair with his mouth open, looking at him. He blinked a few times. And then he, too, gulped his new whiskey down all at once.  
They both looked at each other.  
Martin opened his mouth, closed it again, stood up, put his glass down and pointed to the two glasses.  
"I'll get the bottle,... I really need another one and you look like it, too."  
He looked up at Martin, just nodded.  
And for a short time Martin disappeared again.

When Martin came back, both glasses were refilled, the bottle was put down and the liquid in the glass was gulped down again.  
Martin cleared his throat.  
"Wow. Ahem. Wow. Ben... well, I haven’t seen this coming. Um... it's not like I'm totally surprised - I mean, we both know we're bisexual, right? But I am amazed... that it is me you have fallen in love with... that you are still in love with," he heard Martin say, completely amazed, and he saw Martin rubbing his neck and nervously running his fingers through his hair. "I'd like to tell you something else, Ben, but for me it's simply nothing more than this wonderful and beautiful friendship and magical chemistry. I'm very flattered, Ben, but I can't give you more than my friendship," Martin said softly and looked at him.

His heart beat faster against his chest after Martin had stopped talking; he tilted his head, felt his heart still beating wildly - he had expected a completely different reaction. He hadn’t really expected a love confession, much more he had expected to be kicked out of the house or something similar.  
And that's exactly why he looked quite astonished.  
Martin tilted his head, looked alarmed.  
"Oh God, ... sorry, did I give you any hope for more?", Martin asked alarmed. “Jesus, I am so sorry, Ben!”  
He had to blink several times, nodded, but at the same time said no. And then he shook his head and closed his eyes briefly.  
"No, I mean no, you didn't. I was expecting you to kick me out or well, that it would somehow spoil our friendship, I was afraid of spoiling things, but I just had to get it out of my head."  
Martin bowed his head, stretched out the hand and patted his hand lying on the table with a smile.  
"You can't choose who you fall in love with and sometimes it's not an easy situation. I won’t throw you out. I'm really very flattered, Ben. You're a wonderful man and an amazing friend, and you'd certainly be an incredibly loving partner, but I’m not having the same feeling for you. You are not spoiling things between us, even so it's a very new and interesting feeling that you are in love with me. Thank you for telling me," Martin said lovingly and squeezed his hand very gently.

He bowed his head, watching Martin as he filled both glasses with whiskey again.  
"I need another one," Martin winked gently. "And maybe you too, to calm down your heart a bit, I can literally see and hear your racing heart," Martin smiled encouragingly.  
Martin handed him the newly filled glass. He smiled slightly to Martin, accepting it gratefully.  
And then the golden liquid flowed down their throats again.

He turned his glass in his hand, raised his head and looked at Martin.  
"Thanks for the compliments. Of course I would have liked to hear something else, Martin - I think that's clear, but I'm glad that nothing will change in our friendship because that's what has kept me from telling you this all these years. You're a wonderful man too, Martin,... and you're a fantastic friend,... and you'd certainly be a gorgeous partner - but I'm glad that you're honest with me instead of just telling me what I want to hear," he said after taking a deep breath.  
Martin smiled gently and bowed his head.  
"The last thing I want to do is hurting you,... even though I've just done it with the truth; but the lie would have hurt you even more in the end," Martin smiled softly and played with his glass. "Did... um, did you break up with Sophie because of me?", Martin asked, and raised his head again.

He looked at Martin, sighed; he put down his glass, ran his fingers through his hair and then rubbed his neck.  
"Yes and no. I've known her for a while and well, ... I knew you and me,… that this won’t happen as I would like it to happen. At some point I had the feeling that I'm no longer in love with you. And then I felt like I loved Sophie, maybe I did, but not quite truthfully and deeply. The desire to have family and to be a dad was strong and the love for her felt real at first, but then we got married, Christopher was there, and then I realized I wasn't over you. I realised Sophie couldn't give me what I wanted because I wanted to be a family with you," he gulped. "I know you liked her in general, but you also thought that we weren’t a match. And well, talking to you about her and me,… that really got me thinking again. I broke up with her, not because you told me in a roundabout way that it was better this way, but because I didn't think it was right to keep telling her I loved her even though it wasn't true." He took a deep breath. "In the end, I should have really thought about it beforehand. It wasn't right to rush into this relationship just because I wanted to be a dad and I was hoping to get over you. She was a placeholder, and it wasn't meant to be."

He looked at Martin, saw how he bowed his head. He knew something was going on in Martin's head - Martin had told him again and again that he didn't look happy with Sophie, that it looked like he was clinging to something that wasn't there. Martin had been absolutely right and it certainly made much more sense to Martin right now.  
"It wasn't right to start a relationship under these circumstances, that's right. In the end I can understand you, I know how much you love children and how much you wanted to be a dad,... and Sophie was nice and you had things in common and she could give you what you wanted. Love, family, children. The one thing I couldn't give you. It's human, Ben. It's not right, but how often do we all make mistakes and only think about ourselves? We can't always do the right thing," Martin said softly.

He watched Martin, who slid his chair a little closer and opened his arms.  
"Come here, big boy," he heard Martin's smiling and gentle voice.  
He looked at Martin in surprise, but sat up - and shortly afterwards he found himself in Martin's hug, the arms wrapped around his neck.  
"You really don't need to worry about our friendship, Ben. I know you'd like it to be more, but let's just leave it like it is. I really don't want to hurt you. Ben, you're important to me, really, incredibly important, you mean a lot to me. Unfortunately, the love I feel for you is purely amicable and not romantic. I'm incredibly sorry, Ben. I wish I could tell you something else. Thank you for your honesty. It is an honour that you have given me your heart, ... and on a friendly level I will guard and protect it with everything I have," Martin murmured softly into his ear and the hand rubbed across his back.

\----------End of Daydream----------

Benedict woke up from the daydream again - he shook himself pleasantly. He could still feel the gentle hug, the loving rubbing on his back, Martin's breathing on his ear. And he could hear Martin's soft and warm voice and his words in his ears as if he had just told him.  
He smiled to himself.

It had felt good to open up to Martin. And even if he had hurt him with the rejection, this unbelievably close friendship to Martin had remained and he was very grateful for that.  
And he had also been very grateful for suggesting to stop the funny and joking flirting - he himself had been afraid to get his hopes up and Martin had been afraid that this would happen and he would hurt Ben.  
The whole evening had calmed him down - and so had the long conversation with Martin after the hug.  
Finally everything that had been on his mind was cleared and no longer unfinished business – and especially in safe hands with Martin, who had been very grateful for his honesty.  
Unfortunately, his heart could not stop being in love with Martin; it still hoped longingly for a love confession of Martin.  
This man had stolen his heart – and his heart wasn’t willing to stop loving him as if it would know for sure that one day Martin would tell him that he had fallen in love with him, as if it would know that Martin was the perfect match and worth years and decades and centuries of waiting, as if it would know he wouldn’t find such a love and his home in any other man or woman.

Now the confession was just a black spot in Martin's head.  
And Ben wouldn’t fill this black spot by himself.   
Martin already was a very sensible man anyway, now more than ever before – he didn’t want to make him feel worse.   
He knew his confession wasn’t gone, Martin just couldn’t see it right now.   
Martin would be able to remember it again some day and until then he would not burden Martin with any additional information which was completely irrelevant for their friendship at the moment.  
They weren’t a couple.  
They were close friends - and that was what Benedict wanted Martin to remember.

And when Martin could remember their great friendship again, he would allow his heart to have love sickness because of Martin Freeman again.


	11. Matilda

_**\- Tuesday, August/23 – 2016, London, Royal London Hospital, Martin’s room -** _

This morning Simon had texted him.  
Apparently he had a surprise for him and he wanted to bring it over later.   
Later, was right now, or maybe in the next 10 minutes, since a few hours have already passed since this morning.   
He even had eaten his lunch already, and if he wouldn’t know that Simon was about to come over for a visit, he would just close his eyes to get some sleep.   
He was also done with his morning routine, with the ward round, with his few minutes of training, with a few minutes talk to the in-house psychiatrist, and with some exams – and he had been told that he actually will be discharged this Friday.   
He wasn't quite sure if he really wanted to be discharged, since he felt quite secure here in this room, which he was familiar with. He didn’t know his own house; he didn’t know if he would feel comfortable there, in a strange and weird and unknown place, mostly being alone - even though his mother as well as Jamie and Ben had said that they would come over to visit him to help and support him. But to be honest, he also didn’t want to stay in the hospital any longer. He didn't like hospitals and if he had to stay any longer, it would mean that he still hasn’t recovered enough to be discharged.   
So it was probably better to leave the hospital. Even if it meant a new environment, something unknown. Maybe some memories would come back.   
Okay – for a try to find his memories at home he wanted to go there, and he suddenly felt a strong restlessness in himself.   
He wanted to go home now.   
Right now.  
Packing his own bag, leaving this room, getting a cab and then back to his new old house.

He sighed, closed his eyes; his feelings and emotions were a complete mess at the moment. He had never felt like this; had never felt so many different feelings at the same time before; never before his feelings had switched within seconds, not like this, not this often.  
From anger about himself, about the doctors and the driver to disappointment about his inability to remember, to joy of being alive and quite well, it was all there and it was quite exhausting, especially when he was desperately trying to remember something.

He ran his fingers through his hair and then he heard a knock at the door. But before he could say anything, the door was opened very enthusiastically. 

Simon.

A little girl with long blond hair rushed into the room.   
Martin blinked a few times.   
It had to be Matilda, at least the girl looked like the girl in the video message and like the girl in the pictures Simon had shown him.

Matilda beamed at him, walked to him pushed the chair against Martin's bed - as close as she could. She kneeled down on it, smiled at Martin, who watched her all the time with a racing heart, watching every movement, no matter how small.   
"Hello Martin," she beamed all over her face. "I'm Matilda and I'm your surprise," she beamed happily and exuberantly. "May I give you a kiss?"  
Martin smiled surprised and a little overwhelmed and over-challenged into the happy face.  
He swallowed; it was terrible that she was so happy and he didn’t recognize her himself. It was a rather unpleasant feeling, it broke his own heart, although this girl didn't look sad or disappointed, but radiated a massive joy and happiness.   
Martin nodded slowly.  
"You may give me a kiss," he murmured. "Is this the way we always greet each other?", he asked.  
Matilda nodded happily.  
"Yes, actually we always hug each other a lot, but I don't think that's so good right now. But we always give each other a kiss on the cheek."

Martin smiled, partly forced, nodded and watched Matilda, who leaned down with a beaming face – she gave him a big kiss on the cheek.  
Martin closed his eyes and then he smiled at her. He sat up a bit more, bent down to his god-daughter and gave her a loving and big kiss on the cheek as well.  
"Hello, Matilda," Martin smiled afterwards and gently caressed her cheek.   
Matilda beamed at him. She was just happy to finally see him and to see that he was looking quite alright after his horrible accident.

Simon smiled at him, came to Matilda and gently squeezed Martin's shoulder.  
"Hey kiddo. How are you doing?"  
Martin looked up, nodded with a smile.  
"Well, it's quite okay. Not much better, but at least not worse," he replied somewhat dejectedly, although he was pleased to see Simon again.   
Simon squeezed his shoulder once more.  
"At least you look a bit fresher and fitter already. Can I get you anything? Tea? Then you two have some time for yourselves," Simon said with a smile.  
"Since you ask…," Martin smiled. "A tea wouldn't be bad. And a piece of cake. Lunch wasn't that good today," he smiled slightly.  
Simon smiled.  
"I'll see what I can find," he winked.  
"Ohh, may I have some cake too, Dad?" Matilda intervened with a begging face, even though she had just eaten Simon's homemade lasagna before leaving for London – and her Dad’s lasagna was the best in the entire universe in her opinion, and she was questioning everyone’s sanity who disagreed.  
Her daddy wasn’t able to say no when she looked at him with big begging puppy eyes – and Matilda knew that.

In the corner of her eye, Simon saw Martin's big grin; he himself just sighed and nodded. He wouldn't even begin to discuss; Maureen wasn't here, he usually didn't stand a chance against Matilda, and he didn't want to have a chance; he only saw her very rarely anyway sometimes, and if he was able to spent time with her, he wanted to spoil her properly - and that included a piece of cake right after lunch.  
He nodded at them, smiled again and then marched out of the room again, with the words:  
"Let's see what they have for you two."

Matilda grinned broadly at Martin as Simon closed the door to the room again. And while Martin grinned, Matilda dropped her shoes from the chair and climbed into the bed.   
"Can you always twist him around your little finger this quickly," Martin asked with a grin - it was a bit difficult to be just happy about the visit, there was still a bitter taste.   
"Yes, it's really easy with dad and with you too," Matilda grinned even more. "It's even easier with you than with Dad, who sometimes tries to compete with my sweet look, you gave up already - a long looooooong time ago. I always get everything I want from you," she grinned.  
"I can give it another try," Martin smiled.   
"Nah, leave it, it's much better as it is right now," she grinned sweetly and gave him another kiss on the cheek. 

She put an arm around Martin's neck and pressed her cheek against Martin's.  
"I love you," she murmured softly.  
Martin closed his eyes and swallowed. He put his left arm around her, put his hand on her back and pressed her gently into a hug. It felt familiar and yet so strange.  
"I'm sure I love you very much too, little one," Martin murmured back quietly.  
"Hmm, you always tell me that," Matilda whispered into Martin's ear.   
Martin rubbed her back; Matilda's third kiss and her cuddling were very welcome. He probably needed it as much as she did right now.  
"You're a very nice surprise," Martin said softly and now gave her another kiss on the cheek.  
He rubbed gently across her back.  
And Matilda slipped even more into Martin’s warm hug – he just gave the best hugs.

And then Martin felt another kiss on his cheek.  
It made him smile and yet it also made him quite sad inside.  
The only thing that calmed him down was the thought that he had no children himself. It was bad enough with Matilda; he didn't want to imagine how it would feel like if he had forgotten his own daughter or son.  
It would probably have broken his heart forever.

Matilda smiled to herself.  
She was happy with the situation. She was finally with Martin, and that was what mattered to her. Although Martin couldn't remember her at the moment, he was awake again and some day he would be able to play with her and read to her again and some day he would know who she was again. And until then, she would just cuddle with him and give him the opportunity to get to know her again. The main thing was that he was awake - everything else would be alright and fine again some day, too.  
"Daddy told me that Ben has been here quite often, too," she said enthusiastically.  
"Yes, that's true. Ben is here every evening," he smiled. "Do you know him, too?"  
"Yeah, I met him when Daddy shot Star Trek with him. He's cool and he's always so sweet. In June we had a barbecue at our place, you were there and Ben too," she smiled.   
"Ben hasn't told me anything about that yet," Martin smiled, caressing her back gently.  
"You even spent the night at our place," she beamed. "You came straight from the Sherlock set because you were shooting the whole night until the afternoon. You went back to London with Ben and then you two stayed with us in the evening. And we played football together and then we played hide and seek. Ben hid in my tree house, which you built with Dad. And we both looked for Ben because you had already found me and then we stayed there and talked. Then I cuddled up to you and we all fell asleep," she beamed and then grinned. "And then daddy teased you a lot during breakfast, because you and Ben were complaining about your aching backs. He said you are old granddads. At some point you showed him your middle finger and Mum admonished you, but she grinned herself," she grinned and finished her story.

Martin had also started to grin more and more. It was great to hear this story - it sounded fantastic and he was sure he had definitely enjoyed the barbecue with his friends and his god-daughter.  
"That sounds like a great barbecue."  
"Was pretty great. We tried to find out something about Sherlock, but you didn't say anything, even Ben hasn’t said something," she grinned, cuddling up to Martin even more.  
Martin grinned gently, still caressing her back.  
"Can’t he keep his mouth shut?"  
"Sometimes he can’t." she laughed. "He's a bit mushy-brained."  
Martin grinned.  
So, Ben was a bit of a mushy-brain, but he also was a fantastic listener, a great distraction, a stunning comforter, a very obliging tea bringer, a funny entertainer and the best live audio book reader.   
But these news about him being a bit mushy-brained only made Benedict more likeable and lovable for him.

Matilda stayed with Martin, just cuddled up to him; she was just happy to finally be with him after not being allowed to come here earlier. Simon had shown her a video message from Martin after his last visit, but this message hadn’t made her happy. Martin had looked quite sad in the video and she had also seen the red, crying eyes - and that had only strengthened her desire to visit Martin. She would have loved to hug and cuddle him after the video until he would’ve felt better.

Martin enjoyed the silence; he enjoyed the cuddling, he enjoyed Matilda's presence. It was beautiful, felt familiar and at the same time so painful for his heart. He pressed her a little slender body more into his arm, hugged her tighter as his hand caressed her back. Everything that he had learned about himself so far sounded fantastic in general, as if he really had a great life, as if he was completely satisfied with his life at the moment - and if it weren't for this big memory gap, he certainly would be.

Simon came back after just half an hour.  
He had leisurely strolled through the hospital, and had even let a few people get their stuff before he did when he had been in the cafeteria. He had wanted to give Martin and Matilda some time - and so he had not only done something good for them, but also for all the people who had been in front of him in the queue, and he had even been nice enough to take a photo with several people and give them an autograph. Actually he hadn't wanted to get involved in this at all here in the hospital, but the group had asked quite nicely and hadn't asked him about Martin, although in the end it had become clear that they knew exactly why he was here. Because in the end they had smiled at him and asked him kindly to give Martin good wishes for a quick recovery.

Now he was on his way back, let a nurse open the door to Martin's room.   
He slipped in, muttered another thank you, saw the nodding and smiling of the nurse, who then closed the door behind him.  
He came to Martin and Matilda with the tray, put it on the windowsill.  
Matilda turned her head around, looked at the tray and the offer on it.

Coffee for daddy. Tea for uncle Martin. Cocoa for me. Apple pie for daddy. Cheesecake for uncle Martin. Chocolate cake for me – Matilda thought with a smile.

She beamed up to Simon.  
"Thanks Daddy."  
Simon smiled at her lovingly.  
Martin also turned his head around, looked briefly at the tray and then at Simon.  
"Thank you, Simon."  
"My pleasure." he smiled softly to him.

He pulled another chair closer while Martin and Matilda sat up a bit more.

Martin looked up at him.  
"Thanks for the surprise, Simon," he said gratefully.  
Simon smiled, turned all the way to Martin, and gently and carefully ruffled through Martin's hair. He bent down, pressed a friendly kiss on Martin's hair, then winked at him with a smile.

It was a gesture that surprised Martin.  
It was a gesture that felt familiar, just as if they had exchanged such kisses before.  
It was a gesture that he himself would never have asked for, that he would never have thought of for a second.  
But it was a gesture that he had desperately needed without saying it.


	12. Riot in the Corridor, and a Pinch of Chance and Luck

_**\- Wednesday, August/24 – 2016, afternoon, London, Royal London Hospital, Martin’s room -** _

Soft soul music played through the headphones into Martin's ears. But even though he had the headphones on his ears, he could still hear the riot that seemed to reign outside his room.   
At first he had just heard his favourite music without headphones; so, when these rather loud noises had started, Martin had just picked up his headphones to listen to his music with them.   
He didn’t quite like to listen to his music with the headphones at the moment – and since he wasn’t sharing this single room with anyone, he had been able to listen to his soul music without his headphone, and even without bothering anyone. 

He was still hearing the riot on the corridor outside his room.

The tumult distracted him from listening to his music and relaxing while doing so, and he couldn't turn up the volume since he would get a terrible headache right away. Once he had heard his soul and motown music quite loud with his headphones, but he had bitterly regretted it, since the headache had screamed hello before the first song had ended.   
Actually he did know it would happen, but even that knowledge hadn't kept him from doing it anyway – he had learned the hard way that loud music really was one of the dumbest ideas to have at the moment.

His eyes were closed as the fingers of his left hand drummed on the mattress - annoyed but in the rhythm of the motown song he was listening to.

What the fuck was going on out there?  
And why couldn't this be sorted out in the fucking stairway or in one of the nurses' rooms?  
Why the fuck was it necessary to have such a loud conversation in the middle of the corridor of a ward even though the patients were supposed to be resting and recovering here?

He was already quite grumpy and mad; he had sworn to himself for a while, had the feeling that this riot was going on for hours now - but if he would have had watched the hands of the clock hanging over the door, he would have known that in fact it were just 15 minutes.  
If he would be allowed to stay up by himself to walk to the door, he would have already told them off with loud and grumpy swearing words.  
He could do it – he was able to stand up, he was able to walk a bit with his crutch, but they had told him just to do the few minutes of training with the in-house physiotherapist – and he didn't want any complications just because he got up and marched through his room to yell at people in the hallway.

He sighed, took a deep breath - the day had been so nice and quiet so far.  
Just a few nurses, just a few doctors, no examinations, no visitors, just 10 minutes of training.  
The first visitor, and the last one today, would be Benedict - but he would need to wait four more hours.  
He was looking forward to him, to his stories, to the tea, to laughing with him, to the gossiping and chatting, to the possible consolation, to the bedtime story.   
He had get immensely used to Benedict's visits and bedtime stories over the last few days. It was a nice ritual, and even if he could have lived perfectly well without the accident and all the consequences that ensued from it, he was glad that the accident had happened now that Benedict was off duty and not on holiday in another country of the world; without Ben he would probably have died in here long ago; of boredom, or sadness, or thinking too much.  
His head, his heart and his stomach had been looking forward to Benedict all day.

He sighed in annoyance and opened his eyes again.  
Just at the right moment.  
The door was opened a little bit and a woman in casual clothes pushed her way through the door, then closed it again quickly and one could see that she was sighing, too.  
Martin took off the headphones and examined the woman.

She was slender, probably not much taller than he was, but at the moment she was wearing dark high heels. Her hair was dark brown almost black; she was wearing her hair in a nice pigtail. Her clothes looked elegant, he liked the style - a black loose blouse, black trousers and a dark green light summer coat.  
And when she turned to him, he could see the rather young looking sympathetic face; she was probably in her mid-30s. From a distance he could already see the blue eyes, the slightly tanned skin, narrow and beautifully shaped lips, which were now smiling.  
A very attractive woman. 

He put the headphones onto the bedside table, tilted his head.  
"Hello."  
"Hello, Mr. Freeman," she smiled in a friendly young voice. "I just walked in, I guess you didn't hear me knock because of the music," she smiled and came closer.  
Martin followed her with his eyes, watched as she put her handbag on the windowsill. He nodded, ran his hand over his stubble and then through his grey hair which probably looked dishevelled.  
"Yes, I didn't hear anything, at least not your knocking, Miss."  
"I hope it was okay, that I just came in."  
Martin nodded.  
"Yes, no problem. Who are you? Are you from the police? A doctor told me that someone might want to come over because of the accident."

The woman smiled, reached down her hand, introduced herself.  
"Charlotte Ferguson," she smiled friendly and they shook hands. "I do indeed work for the police, but not for the Metropolitan, but for Scotland Yard," she continued to smile. "I am not here for questions about the accident. The Metropolitan will do that. But a doctor just told me they're still holding them back, since you can’t remember anything from the last years. So, they want to keep your stress level down as much as possible," she said gently. "I am just here for you. I found you after your accident, Mr. Freeman.”

Martin tilted his head.  
"Oh." he nodded slightly. "Yes, um, I really couldn't help them at all right now," he murmured and watched the woman sit down. "I think Martin is enough, after all you have... helped me," he said.  
Charlotte smiled.  
"I didn't want to rush in with a friendship-like Martin on my lips," she smiled. "Though I guess most fans just call you by your first name anyway."  
Martin smiled slightly to her.  
"Unfortunately, I can't really answer that. I don't know anything about it, except what the other visitors told me. Have we met before?"  
"Hmm, the doctor told me, he hadn’t wanted to send me in without that information. I really hope you’ll be able to recall your memories very soon, as well as I hope, that you will feel much better soon. In any case, it's nice to visit you now and to see that you are doing alright," she smiled, "We have never met before. I live in Potter's Bar too, but we've never met before. I always hoped I'd run into you someday. Well... my wish came true, but not the way I hoped. I would have liked to meet you under different circumstances."  
"I’m sorry we met like that," he said politely. "Can I ask you about the accident?"  
Charlotte nodded.  
"Sure." she smiled.  
"Okay," he took a breath and was about to ask his first question, when something else occurred to him, or rather, when he realised that the riot had come to an end - it was suddenly very quiet. "Um... something else first. What happened out there?"

Charlotte looked up at him, one could see the annoyed expression on her face.  
"A team of reporters somehow made it into the hospital and made it to your ward - undetected. They probably wanted to take pictures of you and probably hoped for an exclusive interview with you. Daily Mail," she said, shaking her head. "The nurses and doctors tried to shoo them away, but the Daily Mail stood firm and argued with the nurses in the corridor. I only saw it for a moment and then I was in the nurses' room with a doctor before he let me to you. When I came out, there were already colleagues from the Metropolitan to lead them out," she said. "Well, I think your job is really great. I'm sure it's a lot of fun, but the press would really get on my nerves."  
Martin bowed his head - was amazed at the audacity of the Daily Mail, even though they had been already quite unscrupulous back then.   
"Interesting, they've been causing trouble here for a while now. Simon said that he and Ben told them off a few times."   
"Come on, let's talk about something else, the colleagues will take care of it," she smiled encouragingly - Martin probably felt bad enough about all these memory gaps anyway, she didn't want him to get upset about the reporters too.

Martin sighed and nodded.  
"Yes," he nodded again. "So you found me... " he murmured.  
Charlotte nodded and shook her head at the same time.  
"Yes and no. Well, actually, my dog found you. Actually my son was supposed to take him for a walk, but as it is with teenagers, swimming with friends was more attractive than just walking a dog. That's why I went for a walk with him, and he doesn't listen to me as good as he does listen to my son," she smiled. "That was your luck, to be honest. We didn't go for a walk along the commercial vehicle path at all, but a little further into the woods, we were at the clearing – you can let him just run and play at this clearing. That's what I did with a ball, which he chased after again and again until he didn't feel like it any more. I wanted to go the same way back, but he is very stubborn. And like I said, he doesn't really listen to me; he knows that I give in, so he can run wherever he wants, which doesn't work with my son. I called him several times, but he just trotted in the direction of this commercial vehicle path," she told an attentive listening Martin. "I had decided not to give in this time because I know that as soon as he won't see me for a moment, he would come back. And suddenly he shot back. I was quite proud and wanted to go home," she smiled. "But he wouldn't let me until I realised that he had apparently found something. And then I went after him. He led me to you," she smiled. "So, you actually have to thank Stanley our Australian Shephard and my lazy son and my husband who stabbed me in the back and just let my son go with his friends," she winked.

Martin bowed his head, had to smile because of the last comment.  
"Well, but I also have to thank you, because you seem to have no assertiveness with pets. I will thank the others later. Stanley found me but you called the ambulance," he said gratefully. "Your day and everything that happened at your house saved me from serious consequences. At least that's what the doctor here told me – there would have been more serious consequences if you would have found me a bit later. Is there any way I can show my gratitude," he asked - the voice still extremely grateful.  
"Oh, a dinner at our place when you feel better would be enough for us, Martin. It goes without saying for me that I helped there. To see you here quite healthy and to hear your thank you is enough. Nevertheless you are welcome to have dinner with us when you feel better," she smiled.  
Martin bowed his head, had to smile again.  
"But then you will do something for me again."  
"You also for us - my husband, my son and also me, we are big fans of you. Our dog as soon as you give him a cuddle," she winked smiling. "You don't remember, but we do remember - you're someone who really cares about others; who, for example, even buys coffee and pizza for the fans on the Sherlock set, so that the waiting and watching fans have something in their stomachs and won’t freeze. Now it's your turn to get something back."

Martin scratched his cheek; he didn't know the story yet, Ben hadn't mentioned anything about it, but they had so much to catch up with - 16 years couldn't be rewound in a few days.  
He liked the woman very much; the dinner offer was quite friendly, and apparently he would do something for them if he would take the offer, since they were fans of him.  
He smiled at her.  
"That... Thank you, Charlotte. If I can make you and your family happy with a dinner, I will gladly accept the invitation. And I like dogs too, at least I used to like them," he smiled gratefully.  
"You still like them, at least as far as I know." She briefly patted Martin's hand. "Do you want me to tell you something else?"

Martin nodded.

"Okay." she smiled. "I called the ambulance, that's right. I'm sorry, I can't give you that much information. An ambulance was there, police, a helicopter. They found the skid marks from the car, your broken bike, no helmet, so it was concluded that you somehow collided with the car. I think you've already been told that," she said and Martin nodded.  
"Yes, they tried to reconstruct what happened from the injuries," he said. "But they could only give some rough information."  
"Hmm, you're the one who can actually tell us what happened. And at some point you'll surely be able to tell us all about it," she said encouragingly. "I looked after you until the ambulance arrived, you had been awake for a moment, but I don't think you really noticed anything. You were unconscious again pretty quickly before the ambulance arrived. They took care of you there, then the helicopter came, the emergency doctor from the helicopter continued to take care of you. I was busy with the police. I can only tell you that they transported you to the ambulance, were in there for a while and then suddenly you were taken to the helicopter. You took off, I stayed with the police."  
Martin nodded.  
"Yes, I guess they decided they'd better bring me here to the Royal."

She patted Martin's hand again.  
"It's hard, isn't it?"  
Martin nodded slowly.  
"Hmh", he murmured dejectedly. "I mean the fractures are annoying and it hurts despite the painkillers, but it is bearable and it is foreseeable when the fractures will be healed. The memory gap is the worst thing, it's not really predictable and it triggers a lot of different feelings," he sighed. "It's not great when you see people you actually know but they are now 16 years older and you might not even recognize them. It's not great when you have completely forgotten people you know - like Ben," he murmured. "And it's scary to see yourself suddenly 16 years older. When I was 28, I didn't have wrinkles or grey hair," he muttered and had to smile a little to himself when he saw Charlotte’s grinning face.  
She patted his hand again, squeezed it briefly, smiled softly.  
"I don't think anybody can feel into that, which I'm sure you're fine with, because it means that none of those you like or love have ever experienced it themselves. I don't know you personally, but I have the impression, at least through interviews and stuff like this, that you have a great family and great friends. I think they will help you as much as they can - whether it's listening, distracting, getting angry and sad together; or trying to get your memories back," she said softly. "You are in good hands, Martin. I'm sure of that. The time now is certainly very stressful and shameful and hurtful, but just keep remembering that you have a very supportive family and circle of friends which won't let you down," she smiled gently.

Martin had his eyes closed for a moment, now swallowed. He had already heard it from others in a similar way, and yet it felt good to hear it again from someone who had not been in direct contact with him, at least not until now. It hurt to hear it all, to be told that this time right now just sucked - but it showed understanding and compassion, and it showed patience even from her. And that again felt damn good.

Charlotte smiled at him.  
"And then another thing. I mean, I knew you were very special with your hair and your clothes, and that you are quite critic with yourself, Mr. Freeman. But let me tell you - if I had a chance with you, I'd leave my husband right away," she grinned. And she grinned even more at Martin's astonished expression. "Don't look at me like that - my husband knows it," she continued. "And he's still a fan of yours."  
"What will he do to me when I come over for dinner?" Martin asked. "He doesn't really have to worry about that, does he? Surely he knows that you wouldn't just leave him in the end," he now said somewhat amused.  
Charlotte grinned impishly.  
"You really must come to dinner so you can get to know me better. Then you will know that I would actually dump him if you would make me an offer," she grinned. "He knows I'm serious. But apparently, he doesn't expect that to happen. By the way, he was the one who told me this morning that we could have you over for dinner sometime when you feel better. He's not gonna do anything to you. He's the same type as Ben - always very friendly and polite and a total gentleman. He would never hurt a fly."

Martin now had to grin too.   
He had been afraid of the fans waiting for him outside - but Charlotte was different; she knew what had happened, she knew about his memory gap, she was the one who had found him that day by several coincidences and different character traits.

"If I should be turned down by my next love, I will come back to you," he smiled and winked.  
"I'll pack my bags, just in case," she laughed.  
And Martin now laughed too, but he pulled his face painfully.  
"Laughing is not so good," Martin smiled and rubbed his chest.  
"That wasn't a joke either, I only had to laugh because you looked so surprised again," she grinned.   
Martin also grinned at her.

Somehow it was sweet and flattering that she liked him that much.  
Even if she had come here with a less pleasant memory, he thought it was great that she had visited him to see how he was doing.  
He had gotten some more information, even an invitation for dinner - and she had been a very nice and pleasant distraction so far.  
It was good to meet someone he hadn't known before - and her words and her manner managed to make him forget the other worries for a few moments.

And only with Benedict's knocking did she say goodbye after several hours. With a hello to Ben and a goodbye to both of them.


	13. HIghlights

_**\- Thursday, August/25 – 2016, in the evening, London, Royal London Hospital, Martin’s room -** _

The second hand of the clock that was hanging over the door reached 12 again, the minute hand moved to number 12 as well; the hour hand stopped at seven.   
7.00pm.

And the door opened - for one last time.  
Benedict came in with the obligatory cup of tea - the last cup of black tea.  
Benedict smiled at him, closed the door with one hand and walked to him.

Martin smiled, stretched out his hand and a very nice cup of tea slid into it.  
"Hey - what were you looking forward to, the tea or me?", Ben smirked.  
Martin looked up at Benedict with adoring eyes, then he glanced briefly into the cup, pretended to think about the question.  
"Hmm," he thought about it, taking his time.  
"It's great to have a friend like you," Benedict smiled with thin lips.  
Martin looked up again, the blue eyes still beamed in an adoring and adorable way up to Benedict, his lips curled into a broad smile and grin.  
"I was looking forward to seeing you."  
"You're just getting away with it because of your puppy eyes," Ben winked with a smile while Martin sipped grinningly at his tea.

Benedict pointed to the walking stick and sat down.  
"Can you walk today or is it for tomorrow?"  
Martin swallowed down the tea.  
"I walked today," Martin beamed. "Not just a bit of training. I actually walked. You cannot imagine how nice it was to just walk again. It was exhausting but it was the absolute highlight so far. I'm really looking forward to finally getting out of here and walking again tomorrow, even so I have to walk with a cane."  
Ben smiled at him.  
"It’s absolutely understandable. You were just lying or sitting here the whole time, and that bit of training just seems like nothing, even so I’m sure that it helped a lot for the recovery of your femoral neck fracture." He put his hand on Martin's thigh. "Do you feel like going somewhere? There are some wheelchairs outside; we could go to the terrace, it's nice outside," he smiled. “Or are you allowed to walk?”  
Martin's eyes began to shine even more.  
"Oh yeah, that would be great. I'll take the tea with me," he said, but still handed it to Benedict so he could walk with the cane, at least all the way out to the wheelchairs - it would be too tiring for him to walk to the terrace, it was too far away. After all, today was only the first time he had walked properly again, after almost two weeks of just lying in a bed. “I’d be allowed to walk, but it’s very exhausting. I’ll will come with you and then we take the wheelchair.”

Benedict got up with the cup of tea in his hand.  
He watched Martin, who was sitting up, swinging his legs out of the bed and taking the cane that had been leaning against the bedside table.  
Martin got up slowly, holding the cane - his collarbone was still in the figure-of-eight bandage, his wrist and forearm still in the sling and plastered cast. But, and this made him very happy, he didn’t need the terrible thrombosis stocking and the annoying catheter any longer.  
He beamed to Ben.  
"Let's go outside, Benny."  
Ben also beamed at him, squeezed Martin's left shoulder, patted the back of Martin's head very softly, rubbed the grey hair on the back of his head.  
"Let’s go, kiddo."

Benedict opened the door for Martin and waited patiently.  
Martin still walked in a slightly strange way, not just because he was limping, but it probably felt strange to walk after not really doing it for two weeks.

Martin walked through the room with the cane in his hand, walked out of the room and he sat down in the wheelchair that was leaning against the wall in front of his room. He put the cane across the armrests.  
Benedict bent down over his shoulder - and for a brief moment Martin held his breath. Benedict was close, quite close, pretty fucking close; Benedict's cheek almost touched his own, he could clearly perceive his perfume and smell, he could feel the warmth emanating from Benedict. If Ben would now turn his head around, and he would turn his around as well, there wouldn't be much left for a kiss that you could see in every cheesy RomCom movie.

Benedict had not leaned down for a kiss, apparently not for flirting either; he had only wanted to give him back the cup of tea.  
"Can you take the cup of tea, Martin. I need both hands. I don't want to run someone over."  
Martin's heart could hardly calm down, even when he took the cup of tea.  
He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, then took a sip of his tea - he didn't want to say anything because he didn't trust his voice.

He could feel Benedict's hand, which was once again running through his hair.  
And then Benedict pushed him along the corridor.  
He himself had leaned back comfortably, trying to ignore the looks of other people on the way through the hospital. But it wasn't that easy, because he sometimes had the feeling these looks were penetrating his body everywhere - whether it was from behind, from the side or from the front.  
It was uncomfortable, and so he just tried to devote more time to his tea than to the thoughts of all these people in the hospital who were gazing at him.

In the end, the way to the terrace had not been that long, and yet his tea was empty as he had been intensely occupied with it.  
He had not even noticed that they were on the terrace - it was only when a fresh breeze blew through his grey hair that he looked up from the empty cup.

The wheelchair was standing on the terrace; it stood at the railing next to a bench on which Benedict was just sitting down.  
The younger man turned his head to him, smiling with gentle eyes and a loving smile.  
He said nothing, the dark and deep voice still remained silent; but he took the cane from his wheelchair, leaned it against the bench, and then he took the empty cup and placed it next to him.

And then his dark and deep voice gently said, "Is everything settled for tomorrow?"

Martin tilted his head, couldn't help but smile.  
"Yes; Jamie was here today and has already picked up most of the things, my mother was there too. And tomorrow he will pick me up around noon," Martin smiled, enjoying the direct sun on his skin.  
Benedict put his hand on Martin's forearm, which was on the armrest of the wheelchair - his thumb caressed back and forth a few times, then he let his hand rest on Martin’s forearm.  
"That sounds good," Ben smiled. "By the way, I ran into Simon, Maureen and Matilda this morning. They asked me to say hello and I shall tell you from Matilda that she loves you and that she had liked it to visit you."  
Martin's eyes sparkled, sparkled bluer than the sky and ocean in the sun. They didn't sparkle just because of the greetings or Matilda's words, they sparkled mainly because of Benedict's touch and his presence.

"I also thought it was very nice that Simon had brought her along on Tuesday. It was nice seeing her, even if it had a bitter taste."  
"Yeah, I’ve seen that in the evening. Even if that visit had a bitter taste, I think the visit was just what you and Matilda needed. She really adores you, and I also know that you loved to spent time with her or to have her at your place for a day or two. You always loved looking after her."  
"Hmh.", Martin smiled. "It was good to see her and be hugged by her. It was like the last few days just a rollercoaster of emotions. There are several sides to everything right now, several good sides and several bad sides."  
The thumb on Martin's forearm caressed gently back and forth again.

The sun warmed Martin in his polo shirt and sweatpants from the outside - Benedict's touch warmed him from the inside with a warm and pleasant feeling that he could feel in his entire body.

"I hadn't told you that Matilda talked about the barbecue."  
Ben nodded.  
"That's right, you didn't tell me, and I hadn't told you about the barbecue with Simon and his family yet."  
Martin smiled to Ben, had the urge to put his hand on Benedict's, but he was afraid that this might be a bit too much. When he had grabbed Benedict's hand while sleeping a few days ago and hadn't let him go it had been a different state - and in the morning they had woken up hand in hand anyway. He was insecure, let it go - he didn't want to scare Ben away.  
"How could we fall asleep in that tree house?" he smirked at Ben instead.  
Ben grinned.  
"Good question. I think we were both just tired - and Matilda had given us a good laugh; playing catch, football, dancing, she had kept us busy the whole time – and I think the cuddling in the tree house didn't make it any better. She lay in the middle," Ben smiled. "And in the morning she still lay there, on her side, with her head on your chest. And me, I'd turned on my side too, my arm had been around Matilda and my hand on your belly," he said with red cheeks. "My thumb had pushed your shirt up a little bit, lying on your naked skin." Now also the ears were red.

Martin had tilted his head. The story was great, but still it made his cheeks and ears red, just like Benedict's, even though Benedict almost looked like he has a sunburn – his own red cheeks and ears were hardly recognisable.  
"She hadn’t mentioned this. Only that Simon made fun of us for complaining about our aching backs."  
"She hadn't mentioned the thing with my hand at the breakfast table either, but had grinned at me cheekily the whole time and had wiggled her eyebrows. I stuck out my tongue, and then she stuck it out her tongue - but we weren’t caught because you flipped your finger at Simon and Maureen told you off with a grin," Ben grinned, still with red ears and cheeks.  
Martin smirked.  
"She told me about the middle finger," he said. "And?... Was my tummy comfortable?", he smiled somewhat insecurely and not quite as coquettishly as usual.  
"You already asked me that in Simon’s garden," Ben smiled. "Only cheekier," Ben grinned, but it also caused his heart to race, because Martin had asked if he would try to touch him secretly in the night. Afterwards he had hugged him in the bathroom while they had refreshed themselves, apologising for the stupid comment. Benedict had known that Martin hadn’t wanted to tease him with his love confession, but that he rather wanted to make it easier for him with a casual behaviour. Nevertheless, he had enjoyed the friendly hug in the bathroom and had also appreciated the apology.  
"And?", Martin winked a little more confidently now. "What did you answer me?"  
Ben smiled at him.  
"That you're comfy."  
Martin smiled at him.  
"Thank you, Benny." Martin said and bowed his head. "Would you have turned red, too, if we would have just talked about it again – without that accident?", Martin smiled.  
"Probably not," Ben grinned. "Now stop it or I'll blush all over again. Besides, your cheeks and ears were red, too."  
Martin smiled.  
"Because I heard it for the first time, somehow - and I don't remember much of what we have experienced," he winked. "Did you blush when it happened, too?"  
Benedict's cheeks became redder again.  
"Hmm." he muttered.  
"And me?"  
"No," Ben mumbled.  
Martin smiled.  
"You've actually turned red again."  
"And you're still such a cheeky tease," Ben had to smile with slightly red cheeks. He patted Martin's arm, then took his hand away.

Martin smiled - looked more relaxed since Benedict was here.  
But the fact that Benedict had taken his hand away did not appeal to him at all. He patted Benedict's thigh, patted his knee.  
"It just works so easily," Martin smiled. "But I'll stop now. And tell you that I am very happy that you have come here one last time. You really have more than sweetened the hospital time. Without you this would have been hell," Martin smiled honestly. "Thank you, Ben. Thank you for being here every day. You helped me a lot with it," Martin mumbled.

Benedict bowed his head; his hand briefly touched Martin's, which was still near his knee.  
"Martin,... it's really nice to have made your time easier. It's good to hear that I was able to help you with it. I really enjoyed being here every day, no matter what we did or how long I was here, no matter if you just needed me to read to you and fell asleep after the first page. I really enjoyed doing all this - and I will continue to be there for you whenever you need me. It doesn't stop just because you're being discharged; it only stops when you don't want me to do this any longer," Ben smiled, squeezing Martin's hand on his knee.  
Martin's eyes beamed - Benedict's words caused a tingling sensation, his presence alone caused this tingling sensation, but the words, the smile, the shining eyes, this deep voice and the touch made it even more intense.  
"Thank you," Martin breathed.  
And Ben just smiled.

It was good to have Benedict here one last time.   
It had been lovely to see him come back every night at 7.00pm sharp.   
It had been lovely to get a cup of tea from him, since it had tasted very good.  
And right now it was good to be outside - not just an open window, he was actually outside, enjoying the last rays of sunshine with Benedict, who warmed him up in a completely different way.

The feeling that Benedict triggered was great; he enjoyed it, even if it put many questions into his head.  
The tingling was lovely, the heartbeat was great.  
He wanted to explore it, outside this hospital.

Firstly, the walking had been his highlight today, then it had been this terrace trip with Ben - but at the end of the day, at the end of the evening, the biggest highlight had waited for Martin.   
Initiated by Benedict.


	14. Going home

_**\- Friday, August/26 – 2016, London, Royal London Hospital, Martin’s room -** _

_The window in his room was wide open - a gentle breeze of the warm summer air ruffled through his grey hair. He was standing in front of the open window – after some easy and short training sessions, the physiotherapist had brought him a walking stick, and in the afternoon when Jamie and his mother had left, they had walked a bit with it. They had walked through this room, resting, they had walked down the corridor, resting, they had walked back to the room. It had felt fantastic, even so he wasn’t able to walk properly, yet – but it was a start.  
It had been the highlight of the day until Ben had arrived, until he had taken him to the big terrace. The trip to the terrace had been the highlight then – but the trip to the terrace wasn’t the highlight of the day any longer.  
The highlight of the day was Benedict’s hug.   
Benedict was standing in front of him, the very last time, here in the hospital, before Jamie would pick him up tomorrow.   
Ben smiled softly, hugged him with these strong arms – there was a hand placed on his lower back, there was a hand placed on the hair at the back of his head.  
It was wonderful, even so the figure-of-eight bandage was a bit annoying._

Martin felt goosebumps spreading across his whole body when he thought about yesterday evening. He hadn't been able to hug Ben - in one hand the walking stick, the other arm useless. But he had enjoyed Benedict's strong arms, the warm body, the calm heartbeat.  
And then there had been Benedict's whispering voice, telling him how lovely it was to hug him.  
At that moment his heart had stopped beating for a moment; his heart had done a somersault, his stomach had tingled - and he had wished to spend the whole evening, the whole night in those arms. But unfortunately, Ben had stepped back far too quickly for his liking, even though he knew that their hug had lasted far too long and far too intimate.

Just thinking about last night gave him goosebumps and a racing heart.

He was standing in front of the window again, looking out, was far away in his thoughts.  
He smiled to himself.   
He needed to find a way to be hugged by Benedict again, as soon as possible. 

On Tuesday, he had thought that he would be completely satisfied with his life without the memory loss, but now he had to update this thought.  
He missed one very important thing - love.  
Could he found love in Ben?  
Could he found love with Ben?  
Should he simply surrender to all these feelings and let them guide him?

A hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality.   
A hand that gently squeezed his shoulder.  
A familiar voice.

His heart skipped a beat again - not because of Benedict, but because someone almost killed him by frightening.

"Martin?!", the voice asked. And the man spoke again when he felt Martin flinch, when he heard his frantic scared breathing. He looked at the frightened Martin through the reflection in the window pane. "Sorry kiddo, I didn't mean to scare you but I've been talking to you for about five minutes and you just haven't reacted," Jamie smiled.  
Martin blinked, took a deep breath and looked at his brother through the reflection.  
"Jamie!"  
"My God, you must have been deep down in a daydream. Was it beautiful?" Jamie grinned.   
Martin just nodded; he was stunned.  
"At least my waiting was worth it - if you had a nice daydream," Jamie patted Martin's left shoulder.  
"Sorry,... I really didn't hear you come in," Martin said and turned around.

He blinked again, looked at Jamie and then at the woman, standing very close.  
"Mum?!"  
"Hello sweety," she smiled and came closer. She caressed Martin's bearded cheek, hugged him softly and motherly, kissed his cheek, caressed his hair on the side of his head. "I thought I'd come along. I wanted to see how my youngest is doing."  
Martin bowed his head, looked at his mother - it was still strange to see her comparatively old, she had really changed in the last 16 years. It was confusing. Not just with her, not just with Jamie, not just with his family in general; it was especially strange to see himself in the mirror. His appearance had changed a fucking lot when he thought back to what he had looked like at the age of 28.   
"You were just here yesterday," he said, had also kissed her cheek.  
"And???!!! I am your mother! Of course I'll pick you up from the hospital, darling," she said with a smile.   
"I'm just going home. It’s not a big deal," Martin murmured.  
Jamie and Philomena looked at him with the same expression - disbelief and a raised eyebrow.  
Of course it was a big deal to go home; to go home to a house, he didn’t know, even so he was living there for eight years now.   
"Okay, okay, I shut up. Can... can... can we just go. I want to get out of here, I just want to go… home. I have already received everything from the doctors, so we can just go... now," Martin urged them to leave.

Jamie and Philomena nodded. 

Jamie took Martin's very last bag, which they hadn't taken with them yesterday – he left the room.  
Philomena smiled happily at Martin - she was glad that her son was finally discharged from the hospital. She gave him another kiss on the cheek, then put her arm around Martin's back – they slowly left the room.

They walked through the hospital, through the corridor and entrance hall.  
Philomena and Martin stopped outside the building and waited for Jamie to pick them up with the car.

It was lovely to feel the fresh air; it had been lovely to walk a little bit; it was lovely to go home.  
It was just lovely to feel the fresh air, but even so he had loved the little walk it had felt strange and painful; and even so he couldn’t wait to go home, it was also scary.   
But something else stressed him even more right now, even more than going home to a house he had never seen before – the glances of other people.   
He felt them from the front, from the side, in the neck.  
He felt anxious and uneasy, he felt tensed and cramped, he felt panic - he wanted to escape, wanted to flee.

Thousand thoughts rushed through his head. 

How should he react, how should he look, why did everyone look at him, what did they expect, would someone speak to him... - he stopped his thoughts, just decided to ignore it and pretend that nobody else was there despite his mother.   
He would just not look at them, then he wouldn't have to talk or smile – then they just couldn’t see them, then he maybe would be invisible.

Philomena caressed Martin's back.  
"Looking forward to your house, honey?"  
Martin looked at the pavement, shrugged his shoulders.  
"I don't know. In a way,... but the hospital is more familiar to me than my own house. I'm just glad I’m allowed to walk again. And I'm sure it's nicer at home than it is here."  
Philomena nodded.  
"Don’t worry, Martin. It will be alright, I’m sure you will love your house. And we have already done the shopping for you. So everything is prepared."  
Martin nodded, smiling slightly, still watching the pavement, making himself invisible – he knew it was bullshit.  
"Thank you."

When Jamie parked in front of them, Martin just limped to the front door, opened it and dropped onto the passenger seat.   
The day had already been exhausting enough.   
Actually, he didn't want to get to know anything new, but something new was waiting for him – his house, every room, probably almost every little thing in it.

He was overchallenged.  
He was overchallenged with his appearance.  
He was overchallenged with the appearance of his family.  
He was overchallenged with the friends he made in the last 16 years.  
He was overchallenged with these big black spots in his head and mind.  
He was overchallenged with all the people who were looking at him, who were knowing him, who were expecting something he couldn’t remember.  
He was overchallenged with everything.

How the fuck should he deal with his house, he knew nothing there.

He sighed – he was having a headache and closed his eyes.

He heard his mother’s talking, heard her say how happy she was that he was finally allowed to go home again. And then she said that they would stay the whole day to show him everything.

Did he want that?  
Did he want to have someone around right now, who would show him everything?  
Did he want company?

Not really.

Actually, he wanted to be alone.  
He wanted to be alone in his house, not having to look at anything - only if he wanted to.  
At the moment it was too much for him.  
His family was just too much for him.  
All people were too much for him right now.  
Maybe there was one exception - Benedict.

Benedict - with whom he immediately and entirely feels safe and comfortable.  
Benedict - who managed to make him forget everything for a few moments, for a few minutes, fore a few hours.  
Benedict – with whom he was able to calm down and relax.

He stopped listening to his mother, tried to seal himself off from the world.  
He knew they just loved him and wanted to help him, but he just wasn’t able to deal with it right now.

After not saying a word (his mum had been busy talking anyway), he got out of the car after 40 minutes, when they stopped in front of his house.

Jamie took the bag out of the trunk, followed Martin and Philomena, who were walking to the front door.

Martin looked around, hoping for a click.  
A quiet street, big and beautiful fields; a large front yard; a small driveway, with a garage and a car; a porch, with a bench; a stone house, with a white door and two floors.  
Martin dropped his shoulders.  
The house looked great from the outside. The surroundings looked great, too. He liked it, he liked it to be here - and he was sure he would soon feel at home. But - and this was the big problem, he had never seen this house before. Even now that he was standing right in front of it, his head told him that he had definitely never seen this house before. Nothing of what he saw seem to be familiar to him at all.   
Not that beautiful big house, not the neighbor's house, not this quiet street; not these lovely fields; not the path that led over the fields to a forest.

He swallowed.

Jamie put the bag down next to him and unlocked the front door.  
His mother was about to enter the house, but before she was able to step inside, Martin said something for the first time since they left the hospital.

"Wait."

Philomena turned her head around.  
"What's wrong, sweety?" she asked softly, patting his cheek lovingly.  
"I... I want to be alone. I want you to leave," he murmured with an apologetically voice.  
Jamie and Philomena looked at him in amazement.  
"Do you think that this is a good idea, Martin?" Jamie asked. "You don't know anything in here,... you're still feeling dizzy,... your arm his still in a cast, sling and that bandage and you shouldn’t walk around like nothing happened with your leg."  
“Yeah, I actually think that this is a good idea. Thank you,... I really appreciate it that you picked me up, and all your visits have been lovely. And also thank you for the shopping and everything, but... I want to be alone now."  
"I don't think that's good, darling," Philomena said.  
"I do. I really need to be alone. It’s enough,... that I don't know this house,... I don't want to have people around who I haven't… ‘seen’ for 16 years,... I can't handle it right now, mum," Martin said.  
"We just want to help you," Philomena defended herself.  
"I know, I know, mum... I'll call you if I need help. I just want to do this alone."  
"But you really don't look that well... and I'm not talking about your injuries, Martin," his mother said.  
"Yeah, I'm not feeling well, but I'd still like to be alone," Martin said again – this time a bit more serious.  
"But…” Philomena tried it again but was interrupted.

Jamie put his hand on her shoulder.

"Mum!" he said with a serious voice. "I don't like it either, but Martin wants to be alone, so we should leave him alone. I think it's all a bit too much right now," he defended Martin. He stopped her again before she was able to even make a sound – he just cut her off by smiling at his little brother. "I'll put your bag inside. You have our numbers in your smartphone, so please call us if you need anything or if you don't want to be alone any longer. And can you just call me tonight and let me know how you are?" Jamie asked softly. "I'd rather stay here too, but I can understand why you want to be alone - but we're worried about you, so please call us later and let us know how you are, okay?”

Martin looked back and forth between his mother and Jamie.   
He looked eyes with Jamie, smiled.  
Jamie had always defended him whenever it had been possible. Even when he had done something quite bad and stupid, Jamie had defended him, telling their mum, he had done it to avoid him from trouble. He had defended him in front of their parents, stepfather, siblings, friends, nasty kids and teenagers - he had always defended and protected him - and he still remembered that he had often introduced him as his guardian angel, at least when he had been a little boy.   
"Thanks,... I'll call you if anything happens,... and I'll call you tonight as well. I promise,... guardian angel," Martin smiled.

Jamie smiled, his eyes were shining - Martin hadn't called him that for decades. It was nice to hear from Martin again.  
He winked at him, took the bag, put it into the hallway and came back to Martin.   
He patted him gently on the shoulder, patted his back, but then he hugged him for a moment.  
"Don't overdo it with the house today, kiddo. Get some rest too," Jamie smiled, before he turned his head to his mother. "Mum, come on, let's go, you can come with me. Stevie's there; and your granddaughter and great-granddaughter want to come over for dinner."  
Philomena sighed, looked at Jamie and then to Martin. Her finger tapped against Martin’s chest.  
"Be glad that Jamie is here," she smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "If you won't listen to me, then listen to him and rest a bit, please, just like Jamie said," she said softly.  
Martin had to smile.  
"I'll listen to Jamie," he said, and gave her a kiss, too. Then he looked at Jamie. "Please greet them;... I promise,... I'll visit Helen and her little one soon,... when all this doesn't give me such a headache any longer. And all the others, too."  
"I'll greet her. Don’t stress yourself, Martin. Helen and all the others are giving you as much time as you need. They miss you a lot, but they can understand. They're waiting for you; they said you can always get in touch with them - they'd come to your place too, if you'd prefer that. So take it easy. They are happy that you’re home again and that you are doing quite well. Especially Helen is looking forward to Uncle Martin, even if it will take a while. Our family is just too big. And you have ‘seen’ Helen the last time when she was 5,... she can really understand that it is just too much. So take your time. One thing at a time," Jamie smiled. "Now go on an adventure and look what you can discover.” 

Martin smiled and nodded.  
And when Philomena and Jamie walked back to the car after a second goodbye, he took a step into his new old house.  
He took a deep breath and closed the door.

Martin stood in the hallway.  
The house was quiet.  
He was alone.


	15. Expedition

_**\- Friday, August/26 – 2016, Hertfordshire, Potters Bar, Martin’s house -** _

Martin looked through the hallway.

He looked around, looked at the wardrobe - several jackets, flat caps, an umbrella, some shoes - from Sneakers to fashionable shoes to rather expensive looking shoes, a bench next to it and a mirror.  
He inspected the shoes, raised an eyebrow and turned to the mirror.  
He looked at himself, and for the first time since the accident he was able see his whole body in front of himself. He eyed himself, eyed every little spot.  
A black polo shirt, a figure-of-eight bandage, a plastered cast, dark blue jeans, Sneakers, a walking stick.  
He tilted his head, leaned the cane against the wall; he caressed over his little tummy, which was almost invisible, which was quite flat, just soft and not muscly – nevertheless, he had definitely gained some weight over the last 16 years, but he had noticed that in hospital already.  
His looked at himself again, looked at his face. He could still see scratches, but the abrasions and bruises slowly faded. He ran his fingers through his grey longer hair, across his face, over his beard, over his wrinkles.  
Okay, the grey hair didn't look that bad, actually he quite liked it, and he liked the beard pretty much, too – just the wrinkles and the bags under his eyes were something he would have been able to live without. 

He sighed, checked himself from top to bottom again, took the walking stick again and walked through the first door on the left hand side - the kitchen. 

It was spacious, had a big fridge, a big cooking area, a kitchen island and bar stools in front of it.  
None of this looked familiar to him, and yet he could at least say that he liked the kitchen a lot.  
He walked to the calendar that was hanging in the kitchen, leaned the walking stick against the wall and then he flipped through the whole calendar.  
He would have been in Australia already and at the end of October he would have been back in London. There was another project listed, as well as other appointments and events. 

October 17th: Mark’s Birthday - probably that guy Ben had told him about; Mark Gatiss.  
October 24th: Dr. Strange Premiere, London - he had listed Benedict's Premiere day. He smiled widely.  
October 28th: Graham Norton with Ben - okay, he knew Graham Norton, apparently he still had a Late Night Show.  
November 5th: SNL Ben - he tilted his head. SNL? He thought about it, what could it mean? Didn’t Ben said something about a show, where he would be the host, Saturday Night Live? Was that the shortcut? Probably - at least it would fit. 

Why had he actually put so many of Ben's appointments in his calendar? The ones he had just looked at weren’t by far the only ones he had found in his calendar.  
Did he really not want to forget all these appointments of Ben? Was Ben really just a friend to him? Somehow, he had the feeling that he might have liked him a little bit more than just as a friend - he didn't have any appointments of Simon or Amanda or other friends in his calendar, despite there birthdays.

New Year's Eve: Simon's place, 6pm, potato salad - that made sense, he would celebrate New Year's Eve at Simon's place and apparently he was supposed to bring potato salad. The only question was: since when was he able to make a proper and eatable potato salad? 

He ran his fingers through his hair, rubbed his eyes and slowly walked to the fridge without the walking stick – some pictures were pinned to it; and he recognized some people.  
Amanda, Ben, Simon, Nick, Jamie, Tim, his mother and James,… Matilda,... his dad - he swallowed.  
But there were also people he didn't really recognize or didn't even know.  
Oh, yes - there was Helen, one of his niece’s; Jamie had already shown him a photo of the other family members. Oh, and there was his sister Laura and his oldest brother Benedict – he had seen them on that recently taken family picture, but Jesus, they had changed so much and somehow not a bit.  
He also looked at the self-painted picture that was hanging on a clip magnet. Not just one was hanging there, but quite a few.  
He bit his lip.  
Looking at these pictures wasn’t great; he shouldn't do that, he felt the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes. 

He walked away from the fridge, grabbed the walking stick and went into his living room.  
He was done with kitchen - if he would get hungry, he could search for plates and cutlery, tea and food. 

He looked around, looked at the big cosy fireplace, at the cosy looking couch, at the two big and comfortable armchairs, at the big wooden dining table, at the bulging bookshelves, at his record player and all the records.  
His way first led him to the record player - something familiar; it was the same one he had had before. Incredible, it still worked. He lifted his head, looked at the shelves with the countless records - in the last 16 years a fucking lot of new records had been added, he could see that quite quickly.  
He leaned his walking stick against the sofa and then he walked carefully towards the shelves, limping. He looked at some of the records, recognized some of them, was not quite sure about others, and a lot of them he must have bought in the last 16 years.  
He pulled one of the records out of the shelves, the first one he had bought himself - he seemed to have kept his filing system. Year of release, alphabetically by bands and musicians.  
He put the record on the record player - he would look around a little bit longer and then he would lie down on the couch listening to his music. 

He took the walking stick again, walked through the living room, stopped in front of four different awards.

A Mousetrap Award for his theatre role as Richard III.  
An MTV Award for his role as Bilbo Baggins.  
An Emmy for John Watson.  
A Bafta for John Watson.

He smiled - it was a strange feeling to see these awards for roles he had played but couldn't remember at the moment; yet it filled him with pride. 

He let his eyes wander.  
He bowed his head when he saw a sword hanging on the wall next to the shelf.  
He took it off, eyed it.  
Why the fucking hell does he have a sword in the living room?  
Why the fucking hell does he even have a sword?  
He hung it up, grabbed the cane again.  
He would deal with the sword later.

He walked out into the hallway, opened a door, and saw a tidy storage room - not interesting at the moment.  
The last door he opened downstairs was rather uninteresting, too. A bathroom - toilet, wash basin, shower, but it looked quite nice, stylish but even a bit retro with classy tube tiles.  
He closed the door again and he looked at the wooden stairs.

A long sigh.

Why of all things did he have a house with a staircase - why hadn't he just bought himself a ground-floor apartment or a bungalow?  
He sighed again – well, he couldn’t change the fact right now and at some point he would need to use it anyway, since his bedroom was seemingly upstairs; he was too curious anyway.

Slowly, he walked up the stairs – it felt weird to look around; it felt like he was in a stranger’s house, like he was just having permission to look around.  
It felt strange, almost a bit like spying.

When he reached the top, he decided not to use these stairs too often in the next time.  
The walking didn't really hurt, but climbing the stairs had been very uncomfortable. 

He opened the first door to the right.  
Another bathroom - bigger than the one downstairs, with a toilet, two sinks, cupboards, laundry basket, a big shower and a big bathtub.  
It was tidy.

Had he really become that tidy or had his mother cleaned up here? He had never lived in a mess, and even so he was a perfectionist, his flat had never looked like this, not as tidy as this house, maybe close to it, but never like this.  
He looked around again, then left the bathroom.  
Until now, he quite liked the house, pretty much loved it – but how had he been able to afford such a beautiful big house?

The next and last door on the right hand side was the guest room; he took a quick look inside, then turned to the left.

He opened the door at the end of the corridor.  
The office.  
He entered.

He looked through more filled bookshelves; even so a desk, a chair, and office cabinets.  
His eyes flitted to the pictures on the wall.  
The question why for fucks sake he was having a sword wasn’t a question any longer - he was looking at a pretty good pencil drawing of him as Bilbo Baggings with that exact sword in his hands. The picture was signed, but he couldn't read the name. Maybe he had got it on set. And probably he had gotten the sword as a farewell present, too.  
The eyes flitted to another picture – a colorued one.  
He was dressed in a suit, Simon was standing next to him. He tilted his head - he didn't recognize the other people, apart from Nick - maybe it was from a set, maybe from one of the films Simon had talked about.  
He let his eyes wander around, discovered a few figures on the window sill.  
With a few more steps, he stood in front of it, eyeing the figures.  
A Lego hobbit - he bowed his head, smiled.  
Another hobbit action figure, next to it again a Bilbo with a rather big head and smaller body.  
There was also a John Watson as an action figure.  
And then he saw John Watson again as a figure with a big head and small body - probably they were some kind of special figures. Anyway, they looked funny.  
There was even another one of those figures; a Sherlock with a violin in his hand - he tilted his head; Ben seemed to have been quite present in his life, and he couldn't get rid of the feeling that there might have been a lot more behind it.  
At the very end, he saw himself as an action figure again; a character in a bathrobe with a towel in his hand - who the hell was that? He searched in his memories, looking for a character with a bathrobe and towel. And he actually found that character - Arthur Dent. Arthur Dent was a fictional character from The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. As far as he remembered, there had been a series. And he had probably played Arthur Dent in a remake.

He noticed the beginning of a headache.  
He really should stop looking around, he really should go downstairs, having some tea, some rest and a nap - but he still wanted to see the bedroom.

Martin left the office, opened the last door upstairs.

He looked at a large and rather comfortable looking bed, a dresser and some bedside tables, as well as an armchair and some plants – he had seen quite a few plants in this house.  
The room was flooded with light.  
He walked to the window, looked out into the garden - into his garden; a big terrace, a nice big lawn with trees and bushes and plants and flowers. Fantastic.  
His eyes sparkled, but slowly tore themselves away from this beautiful and relaxing sight. 

He turned around again, looked through the room, bowed his head when he saw a colourful, comfortable robe lying on the bed. He took a step towards it, sat down on the bed for a moment. He stroked across the dressing gown, examined it – he smiled, because he could remember it. It was Bilbo's dressing gown; Benedict had sent him a picture of it - a picture he had apparently sent Ben at one time; him wearing the Hobbit's dressing gown on the set of Bilbo Bagging's Hobbit Hole.  
He smiled again, then stood up.

He walked towards the door, wanted to go downstairs to lie down on the couch. But on his way to the door he discovered a sliding door that made him curious.  
He walked to it, pushed it open – and it took his breath away.

He stood at the entrance to his walk-in closet - or dressing room,... or shopping mall.  
He stepped inside.  
The doors and drawers of the wardrobes were closed - yet, he could see the shoe rack with even more expensive looking shoes.  
He used to walking stick to discover the entire room, leaned on it a little bit to put less weight onto his left leg.  
He opened every closet door, every drawer.  
Shirts, jackets, trousers, pants, jeans, suit trousers, ties, bow ties, suspenders, cuff links.  
Polo shirts, casual shirts, T-shirts, jackets, coats, pullovers, sweaters, jumpers.  
Boxer shorts, socks, undershirts, boxer briefs.  
Watches, sunglasses, hats, flat caps, caps, scarves, gloves.  
And all this was not only represented two or three times – there was such a huge amount of all these things; in different variations and colours.  
He loved the clothes and also all the accessories quite a lot - but he wondered how he had been able to afford all these things.  
It was incredibly confusing - when he thought back to 2000, he saw himself working his socks off for little money at the theatre and in small TV productions, while living in a very small apartment in Teddington.  
How had he been able to afford all this? All these clothes, all the furniture and that big and beautiful house with that incredible big garden?

He ruffled through his hair.  
He really needed to check his bank account; the papers to do so would probably be somewhere in his office. He really should check his bank balance, who knows if he wasn’t throwing his money down the rathole – he hoped he wasn’t having piles of debts, he hoped he wasn’t near having piles of debts; maybe he was just earning a lot of money as the well known actor as he seemed to be right now.  
He ruffled through his tousled hair again – he needed to calm down, and he needed to rest a bit, before he would look for his bank account papers.

Martin left the bedroom, walked slowly down the stairs and back into the living room, where he switched on the record player.

And then he laid down comfortably on the big comfortable sofa.

The familiar music, the music he loved so much made him feel a little better, calmed him down a bit, made him happy.  
This expedition through his house had been quite stirring, and yet he was glad to be just for himself. To be alone. Alone with himself and all the new impressions.  
His mother would probably have told him all kinds of stories about the things he didn't know here - and he knew that he wouldn't have been able to cope with it, even so she probably would have been able to answer a lot of questions. 

He lay on his back, closed his eyes. It was unbelievably cosy and he was quite exhausted from the little exploratory tour.  
He had wanted to watch his own movies and series; he had seen quite a few DVDs, and he probably owned DVDs of his movies and series, but he wasn't just too exhausted right now, he also was afraid of watching these films and series.  
He had avoided to search himself on the internet - he probably couldn't have handled the informations he would have gotten all at once.  
The stories of his friends and family had been enough for him so far.  
Even here in the living room he hadn’t looked at all the photos hanging at the wall - it was just too much.  
His head was already buzzing, he felt dizzy, he felt sick - he was overstrained, he was completely unfocused, he was overchallenged.

He sighed with closed eyes.  
He only listened to the music.

Benedict appeared in front of his closed eyes, in his mind and daydream, in his heart and tingling butterflies filled belly. 

\----------Daydream----------

_"I’ve almost forgotten how small you are," Ben grinned and caressed his shoulder tenderly.  
He grinned and rolled his eyes.  
"You're pretty cheeky,... you told me you are not the cheeky, sassy and naughty one."  
"I have learned from the best for many years. I just needed to fight back, cheeky devil." Ben grinned.  
They laughed.  
"You don't stand a chance, do you?"  
"No, not a bit. You are the king of charming insolence," Ben winked at him. _

_He grinned up to Ben - grinned, smirked, smiled.  
Benedict put the hand on his hand, that was holding the cane - the thumb caressed the back of his hand. _

_"This cane reminds me of Sherlock, or rather, Watson. You had to use one in the first episode."  
"It feels kind of familiar in a weird way, to be honest."_

_Ben smiled, let the hand wander to his lower back - gently, slowly and sensitively, Ben’s hand caressed to his grey hair at the back of the head, as the other hand was just placed on his lower back.  
Ben hugged him tightly.  
His cheek touched Benedict's collarbone while he closed his eyes.  
"Benny... "  
Benedict's cheek touched the side of his head - the voice was murmuring into his ear, was soft and gently.  
"It's lovely to hug you."  
And to confirm it, Benedict just hugged him even tighter – it was a warm, tight and dearly hug.  
He was pressed against a warm, slender, tall and muscly body, which just made him feel warm and relaxed, safe and secure._

\----------End of Daydream----------

Martin opened his eyes again.  
He felt goose bumps all over his body; he shivered pleasantly, smiled.  
That hug last night had been just incredibly beautiful.  
He had enjoyed every touch of Ben in the last two weeks, every little touch on his hands, arms, leg, shoulder, cheek and hair.  
He had enjoyed every minute with Benedict.  
He had enjoyed every second he had heard Benedict's voice.  
And he regretted every second that he had been asleep and not been able to consciously perceive this voice, these touches, this scent, this look.

Actually he had wanted to be alone today.  
Actually he wanted to look around, sorting his thoughts, resting and napping, trying to get to know himself and this house, trying to make it his home again, but the thought of Ben caused a strong feeling of missing.  
He had got incredibly used to seeing him every day that he already missed him again – if he would still be in hospital, Ben would come over in a few hours.

He didn't feel like he could deal with not seeing him tonight.  
He could text him, asking him to come over – and while he would wait for Ben to come over, he could search for his account papers. 

His hand slipped into his trouser pocket.  
He pulled out his phone, unlocked it and texted Benedict.

_**\- Hey Benny, I'm home. Could you imagine to continue our hospital ritual? I’d love to see you tonight. I think I got a little bit too used to it. We can’t just stop it all of a sudden, you need to wean me slowly. -** _


	16. Not Alone

_**\- Friday, August/26 – 2016, Potters Bar, Martin’ house -** _

The exploratory tour through his own house had ended as soon as he had laid down to listen to his music; he hadn’t searched for his account papers, hadn’t looked into his own bank account to make sure that he was truly able to afford this lifestyle he was seemingly living.  
He hadn’t done anything - he had fallen asleep with the smartphone on his stomach.  
And only the ringing of his smartphone woke him up again.

He blinked, wondering about that strange sound he was hearing.   
It wasn't soul music, there wasn’t even music playing any longer.  
Smartphone!  
He looked around - confused and with a racing heart.   
Panic flooded through his veins.  
Where was he?  
He narrowed his eyes briefly.  
Alright, alright. At home. He was at home. This was his home.  
The heart calmed down slowly, and so did the buzzing head.   
The panic faded away.  
And on his belly, the smartphone still rang and vibrated.

He picked up the phone.  
Ben C. - with picture, a selfie of him disguised as Doctor Strange.  
He smiled brightly and accepted the call.

"Benny," he said with a happy voice.  
"Martin, hey." Ben’s voice sounded happy but also worried. "I just wanted to check if everything is okay. Are you alright? I texted you, but you didn't answer. It's quite late, I’m almost on my way to your place and I ask if I can bring something for dinner," Benedict asked.  
"Oh,... oh...", Martin said. "I fell asleep. I had a quick look around the house and then I laid down on the sofa because it was too much. I was sleeping, it's all good."  
"Okay, good. I thought something happened. Can I bring something for dinner, I'd order some takeaway and pick it up on the way to your place."  
"No, no... everything's fine. Sorry, I haven’t wanted to worry you. I was just exhausted. All a bit too much. Food sounds great."  
"I thought Jamie would be with you."  
"Yes, well, my mother was there, too... I sent them home. I wanted to be alone. But... well... I miss you, you've been there every night for the last two weeks and I would love to have you as my company tonight.”  
One could almost hear Ben’s shining eyes and his bright smile.  
"Okay, as long as you're okay, everything's fine. I'd love to come over, Martin. Would you be even happier if I bring pizza?"  
"Definitely," Martin beamed.  
"Then I'll bring me and pizza," Ben smiled.  
"Perfect combination," Martin beamed in an unconsciously flirtatious voice.  
"I'm not used to such an amount of compliments from you," Ben smiled again, and Martin had no idea how many butterflies he had just caused with that flirting voice. "But you're welcome to carry on. I'll order the takeaway and then I’m with you in the next… probably 90 minutes."  
"You better get used to it," Martin smiled. "See you later."  
"See you later," Ben said with a smiling voice. "Martin?"  
"Yes?", Martin said, he had almost hung up.  
"I missed you, too." Benedict's voice was gently and soft.  
They didn't need words to know that the other one was smiling.  
They knew it, so they both hung up.

His feet hadn't carried him out of the living room since he had finished his phone call with Benedict.   
His feet had carried him to the television, to the shelf with a lot of DVDs.   
He had been looking for a specific DVD, or rather several DVDs - he had been looking for Sherlock. And he had found it.   
Actually, he hadn't wanted to watch any films with himself in it on his own - even if, in Sherlock's case, ‘series’ it was. He hadn’t wanted to be alone during it, afraid it would emotionally upset him.  
But he had the feeling that Benedict was the key - the key to all memories, the key that would light up every room in his head, the key to fill all these rooms with colour and memories.   
There was something special about Benedict.  
The chemistry.  
The friendship.  
The closeness.  
All these appointments of Ben in his calendar; that Sherlock figure standing next to Watson in his office, in a position as if they were kissing - Ben seemed incredibly important to him.  
He was sure, Ben was the key.

He hadn’t been able to stop himself from watching Sherlock - he had spent a lot of time with Benedict on the Sherlock Set, just recently, just right before his accident. Maybe the memories would come back, at least a few - he hoped for at least a few memories, even with one he would be more than satisfied.

He had managed one episode, the first episode - A Study in Pink. He had just started the second episode, but the ring of the bell brought him back to reality. And to be honest, he hadn't really followed the first minutes of the second episode. He had been too absorbed in thoughts - grey and black thoughts.  
Frustration.

He got up, took the walking stick - the way to the front door was a bit too far.   
He walked to the front door, opened it - and saw the hoped-for face, the hoped-for man.   
Benedict.  
Benedict beamed at him.   
His eyes were warm and green; the smile all over his face; his posture expressed great anticipation and on his hands were two pizza boxes.   
Ben tilted his head and the sparkle in his eyes slowly disappeared. The smile slowly disappeared.

"Martin?", he asked worried.  
"Just ... come in," Martin said in a low voice and stepped aside.  
Benedict looked at him, eyed him again, then he stepped into the house.   
When he slipped out of his shoes, Martin closed the door.

They went into the kitchen, where Benedict put the pizza boxes down onto the kitchen island - then he turned to Martin, who was leaning against the kitchen counter.   
His face was grey, his eyes tired, he looked sad and frustrated.  
Benedict came closer, put one hand on Martin's shoulder, squeezed it softly.  
"What's wrong, Martin?" His hand gently squeezed Martin's shoulder again.  
"It's great that you're here," Martin murmured.  
"That's not an answer to my question... at least I hope it’s not the answer to my question. You should look differently when you're happy to see me. You're trying to distract me from the fact that you look quite sad, worried, anxious and frustrated," Ben said softly and came a little closer, placing the other hand on Martin's upper arm, which was in the figure-of-eight bandage.

Martin sighed.  
"Nothing comes back, not even a small part of one memory. Benny,... you told me so many things, you showed me pictures; I looked at pictures on my smartphone; my family told me a lot of things and showed me a lot of pictures as well as Simon and Matilda, Amanda, my publicist Caroline;... I read messages,... and just nothing, just nothing looks familiar to me," he murmured in a low voice. He cleared his throat. He didn't look up at Benedict, noticing the first tears in his eyes. "I... I was watching Sherlock, the first episode. I thought I might remember something, but nothing. Just nothing,"   
He tried to swallow down the lump in his throat, tried to swallow down his tears.  
He failed.  
He sobbed in a heartbreaking way.

Benedict's hand moved gently to Martin's back, up to his neck, up to the back of his head.  
“Come here,” he said and pressed him closer – very gently.   
Martin let go of his walking stick, let it lean against the kitchen counter and put one arm around Benedict, looking for warmth, looking for safety and security, looking for comfort. He grabbed Benedict's shirt.   
Ben caressed the back of Martin's head.   
"It sounds like you're giving up after two weeks," Ben said softly and gently.  
"What else can I do? How much longer will this go on and on and on like this? How can 16 years of my life suddenly reappear?" he asked in a crying, but angry, grumpy and desperate voice.  
Benedict pressed him closer.  
"I can imagine that it's not easy at the moment... and that two weeks already feel like an entire life, but you shouldn't give up so easily. You're not alone, Martin. You know we'll help you anytime, we're always there for you. Whether you need distraction, support, help, someone to talk to, or someone to comfort you, or if you just want to be alone," Benedict murmured softly. He caressed the back of Martin's head again, gently and lovingly, reassuring.

Martin pressed himself against Benedict - as tight as he could with that annoying sling, bandage and plastered cast.  
He would sell his soul to give Ben a proper hug, to be hugged by him - firmly and safely.   
He pressed his face against Benedict's collarbone, blinking the tears away.  
And then he took a deep breath, inhaling Benedict's pleasant perfume and his own scent.   
He pressed his face even more against Ben’s collarbone.  
Benedict's presence and the caressing of the back of his head slowly calmed him down.  
His hand slowly released its grip, he released Benedict's t-shirt, caressing Benedict's lower back with his hand.  
"Thank you, Benny," he murmured softly, crying - the anger and rage had retreated a little.  
Ben just smiled and patted Martin's head.

Martin also patted Benedict's back and then he stopped hugging him in such an intense and desperate way.   
He looked up at Ben with big blue and teary eyes.  
"It's silly that you have to comfort me all the time," Martin muttered ashamedly. “I’m a doofus.”  
"I'm sure I'd feel the same way. The situation is difficult and your feelings are on a roller-coaster ride because of it - it changes every second. But I can understand it, it's just frightening and you're standing in front of a huge mountain full of lost memories," Ben said in a calm and deep voice. "And I don't think it's silly that I have to comfort you so often. Of course, it's not nice to see you cry, but the fact that I’m allowed to comfort you just says that you trust me a lot and care about me - and I seem to be a pretty good consolator," Ben smiled.  
"You're right about that," Martin smiled gently. "That I’m on a roller-coaster ride at the moment, that I trust you, that I care about you, and that you’re pretty good at comforting me.”  
Ben winked gently, and then stepped back a little bit.

Martin wiped his eyes away, ran his hand through his hair.  
He felt Ben’s gently patting hand on the shoulder again - and secretly his first thought was that Benedict would hopefully give him more of these gentle touches this evening.  
"Go into the living room, Martin. I'll bring the pizza and something to drink and then we'll have a nice evening,... so you can have a nice first evening at home."  
Martin smiled softly, nodded, took the walking stick and walked past Benedict.

Benedict looked after him.   
And again this walking stick reminded him of the first season of Sherlock - of John Watson.   
At that time, Martin had simply been a friend to him and then all of a sudden during the second season, Martin had suddenly stolen his heart in a very intense way.   
Martin hadn't really done anything special to stole his heart.  
They had just been sitting in a room, meeting for a read-through, for the first time of the second season - Martin had been a bit late and when he had entered the room as the very last person this day, his heart had started to go crazy.   
Probably he had liked Martin quite a bit different than a friend before and during the shooting-free time between seasons 1 and 2 he had noticed that he had missed him a bit different than a friend, but he hadn’t realised what the different feeling had wanted to tell him. When Martin had entered the room that day, his heart had finally understood it, too.   
But what else should he have expected from his own heart than falling in love with this gorgeous man, since the first adorable, charming and gorgeous smile had been reserved for him, including two warm and bright blue eyes.   
Nothing had changed since then, not the love for him, not the friendship they shared, not the chemistry they felt between each other; even after the conversation with Martin this year, who had told him very clearly that it was just friendship for him, his heart couldn’t let go this very special man.   
He had found the right one - and unfortunately the right one was not available.

Benedict sighed, turned to the pizza – the restaurant had already cut it into slices, Benedict had asked them to, so Martin would be able to eat properly.   
He brought the pizza into the living room and then disappeared again to get something to drink for Martin and himself.

When he came back, Martin had the remote control in his hand.  
"You don’t have to turn it off," Ben said as he sat down on the sofa next to Martin.  
Martin turned his head to Ben, put the remote back on the coffee table.  
"You're a great Sherlock," Martin smiled with red eyes.   
"Just because you're such a fantastic Watson," Ben smiled. “I learned a lot from you.”  
"I'm only a fantastic Watson because you're such an amazing Sherlock," Martin winked when Ben complimented him.  
They both smiled at each other.  
"You know it's a doom loop," Ben grinned, patting Martin's thigh.  
Martin nodded with a grin, then rubbed his tear-stained eyes.

He turned his head towards the pizza and took a slice of the tuna pizza.  
"Do Sherlock and John share more than just friendship? Meanwhile? They do like each other a lot, don't they? These are not just harmless hints from Mark and Steven, are they?", Martin grinned.   
Benedict laughed with a slice of spinach pizza in his hand.  
"I am not answering that. You have the chance to watch it again without knowing what's happening. So I guess you'll have to find out for yourself by watching each episode," Ben winked broadly.  
"This is torture, Benny! The doctor said I should avoid stress!", Martin grinned.  
"Yeah, see... then stop bickering, eat your pizza and watch Sherlock instead of arguing with me," Ben winked.  
Martin pulled a pout.  
"You know, when I feel better and when I can remember everything again, you'll get it all back," Martin grinned again.  
"Yes, I know that. But until then I can be the cheekier one of us. Let me have a little bit of fun as long as I get away with it scot-free," Ben grinned.  
Martin smirked.  
"Actually, you told me in the hospital that we have never kissed before, so they can't really have anything going on, unless we didn't shoot a kiss, but mentioned it. Or maybe you just didn't tell me about the professional kiss," Martin speculated.  
Ben grinned broadly.  
"Just watch it, then you won't have to speculate."

Martin sighed.  
"Stubborn." - and then he bit into his pizza.  
Ben grinned and made himself comfortable - next to Martin, who had come a little closer while leaning back.  
And not only Benedict liked it.

Martin had put the pizza box on his lap just like Benedict, and when he had finished a few minutes after Ben, he had bent forward again to put the box back onto the coffee table.

He leaned back, leaned against Ben as if it was just by chance.  
"Oh,… sorry...", Martin muttered – the apology was a very big lie since it had been purely intentional, but Ben seemed to believe it.  
"No problem. It's all good," Ben smiled - no matter if Martin had just lied or if the 'cuddling' had actually happened by accident, he would certainly not reject him. He would just play along if it was a lie and otherwise hope that Martin wouldn't slip away if it was the truth.  
Martin didn’t slip away, he was still leaning against Ben.  
Benedict didn’t slip away either - he didn't intend to push Martin away, on the contrary, he would have liked to put his arm around him, to pull him even closer. He knew he wasn't satisfied with just cuddling, but it was better than nothing and he would take everything Martin gave him.

The evening had been relatively quietly, which wasn't because they didn't want to talk - they simply didn't have to. At the moment no words were needed. 

Martin had been exhausted, had felt alone, had missed Ben; he had been sad and frustrated, he had been devastated and he still couldn't understand how all those years could have disappeared from his mind - a non-talking Benedict had been enough for him to relax, the presence alone brightened his mood.  
Benedict's presence had made his heart beat faster and faster, again and again, as soon as he realised that he was almost cuddling with his rather attractive colleague and friend.

They had watched the second and last episode of the first season - Martin hadn’t asked any questions. It was enough for him to see himself acting in a series that was apparently incredibly successful; that alone was exciting enough.  
And when Benedict asked if he wanted to watch the first episode of the second season, Benedict registered the second reason why Martin had been completely quiet for a few minutes now.  
Martin had fallen asleep.

Martin's head was lying on Benedict's shoulder - Ben had noticed that, but he had thought that Martin had simply wanted to sit down differently, or rather that he hadn't been able to keep his head in the same position any longer.  
But no, Martin, his little Watson and Hobbit, had fallen asleep next to him, almost cuddled against him - probably completely exhausted from that first day.

Benedict got up slowly, held Martin in his arms, and laid him slowly down onto the sofa.   
He slowly and carefully pulled his arm out from under Martin's body again, gently pushed his hand under Martin's head, lifted it a little, pushed a pillow under it, and let his head drop slowly, letting Martin's head sink onto the pillow.  
He smiled down at Martin, who continued sleeping peacefully.  
His hand ran through Martin's hair, caressing the strands from Martin's face.  
Then his way led him to the telly; he put away the DVD, switched off the telly, carried the used glasses into the kitchen, even washed them. And then he grabbed the empty pizza boxes, and threw them away. 

He walked back to Martin, stood in front of the sofa and looked down at his friend and colleague. His hand ran through Martin's hair again - he just couldn't resist, the feeling was too good, the hair so beautifully soft and fluffy.  
"Sleep well, Martin," he muttered lovingly and covered him with one of the fleece blankets from the living room.  
He looked down at Martin. The urge was enormous and he just couldn't stop himself. He leaned down, breathed a kiss on Martin's forehead, who started to smile in his sleep.  
Benedict's heart raced happily and excitedly - it had been the first kiss he had exchanged with Martin. Martin hadn't responded, hadn't even noticed it directly - but it had been the first time his lips had touched Martin's skin.  
The lips were tingling joyfully.  
But he swallowed when he felt the urge to go on – gosh, he would love to put his lips on Martin's, kiss him, feel his lips, his tongue, his teeth; gosh, he would love to run his lips over Martin's body, kissing every millimetre of it.  
What was that gorgeous little man doing with him?  
He resisted the urge - it was not the right thing to do.

He just put the note he had written in the kitchen onto the coffee table.


	17. The Answer to a Question?

_**\- Friday, August/26 – 2016, Potters Bar -** _

Benedict had just left the house, had just closed the door quietly behind him when Jamie walked towards him.   
He didn't just walk, he rushed towards him, he almost ran.   
And behind Jamie, Philomena rushed as fast as she could towards Ben, too - she tried to keep up with her son, but Jamie was just too fast.

Benedict tilted his head, came towards them.  
"Benedict?!" Jamie gasped slightly.  
"Jamie?... Philomena?" he smiled at them. "You two look a little stressed," he added.   
Philomena stopped next to Jamie, put her hands on her hips.  
"Benedict," she said with a gasping voice, bowing her head. "Have you spent the evening with Martin? Is he all right?", she asked in a quick and worried voice.  
Benedict looked at them, was completely relaxed. He nodded.  
"Yes, everything's okay with Martin, why?", he asked irritated.  
Jamie turned his head to his mother.  
"What did I tell you! Now you've driven me completely mad with your panicky and overanxious babbling! I told you that he's probably fine and he's just forgotten about it. I told you right away, let's call before we drive to him," Jamie complained.   
Philomena looked at him.  
"It's better that way than not looking after him at all, finding out he’s not doing okay," she defended herself.  
Benedict still looked at them with big question marks in his eyes.  
"What did he forget?"

Jamie turned his head back to Benedict; he wanted to start talking, but his mother was faster - as usual, as always.  
She put her hand on Benedict's upper arm.  
"He insisted on being alone today when we dropped him off, which I didn't think was a good idea at all, but my two sons had to have the last word...”  
"We already talked about this at home, Mom! Martin wanted to be alone and I can understand that. Why should we force him when he feels uncomfortable with it!?!” Jamie interrupted his mother.  
Benedict glanced back and forth between the two, watching Philomena pursing her lips and Jamie rolling his eyes - and then Martin's mother looked at him again.  
"We had asked him to call us in the evening to check if everything is okay. He had promised to call us, but he hasn't called or texted. We've been worried that something happened," she said worriedly.  
"You drove everybody crazy at home, Mom! Before that, we weren't worried at all... because we hadn't even called him to check on him," Jamie added.

Benedict smiled.

"Well, it doesn't matter who was worried more or less. Martin is definitely fine, nothing happened. I was there, we had pizza, we watched Sherlock and he fell asleep."   
Philomena sighed with relief.  
Jamie crossed his arms in front of his chest.  
"I told you, he probably just fell asleep! Now we came here in the middle of the night and I even got into a radar trap because you wanted me to drive faster."  
"As long as Martin is all right, Jamie. Who cares about a ticket?" she said, shrugging her shoulders.  
Ben grinned and smiled.  
"You really could have called. We were here the whole evening."

Jamie nodded knowingly, Philomena just smiled in relief.  
"How was he when you arrived? Is he feeling comfortable here?", Martin's mother asked, unimpressed by Jamie's complaint about the radar trap ticket.  
"He seemed to feel comfortable here," Ben said. "But he was not really well when I arrived. He'd started watching Sherlock on his own, hoping something would look familiar. But no memories came back, so he was pretty upset and frustrated," he said softly. "But... he got better as the evening went on," he added, seeing Philomena's worried expression. "I think it's just hard for him to understand why so many years have disappeared and simply won't return."

Jamie nodded sympathetically.  
"16 years is a long time, I wonder why his head is hiding so many years full of memories," Jamie murmured. "It must be incredibly hard. So much has happened in the last 16 years, family, work, friends, and in the world. It's amazing how our mind can just put something like this into the dark."  
Benedict nodded agreeing with Jamie.  
Philomena sighed, looking sad - she would love to do so much more for her youngest son.

They silently agreed to walk back to the cars.

Philomena stopped on the sidewalk.  
"You know what I just remembered?" she asked.  
The two men looked at her, shaking their heads.  
"I don't know," they both shrugged their shoulders.  
"Jamie,… didn't he fall off his bike one day? Shortly after he had met Amanda on a set. They had wanted to go to the open-air cinema. Didn't he fall off his bike on the way home? He was with us at the weekend and limped strangely; he said it wasn't that bad, he had only banged his knee, sprained his ankle and scraped his hands a bit," she babbled. She couldn't explain why she remembered this story right now.  
Benedict blinked a few times; Jamie too.

Jamie looked at them.  
"That was 16 years ago! Amanda and Martin met 16 years ago. You're right! Back then we laughed about it because he had brought her home and had made a detour to get there. She was living in the other direction, so he went there, then all the way back and then back to his apartment. He drove through the park and fell off is bike," Jamie remembered and then had to laugh. "He had said that it isn’t always worth while to be a gentleman and that this is what comes from being charming and sweet - a busted knee, a thick ankle and burning hands."

Benedict had to grin.  
It was just a typical thing for Martin to say.  
Philomena also grinned - with the same thought.

Ben bowed his head, looked at Jamie and Philomena.

"I’ve talked to one of the doctor a few days ago, because I was interested in how something like this can be triggered in our mind. He said that a lot of times amnesia suppresses something - the accident, for example - and that sometimes amnesia goes back to a point when you've experienced something similar. Now he had another bicycle accident,... maybe that's why 16 years have disappeared - back to the other bicycle accident he had. He can vaguely remember Amanda, and then it's all gone. He hasn't told me anything about that night or the bike accident in the last two weeks. He had just told me how they met, that they liked each other, that they were out for drinks a few times and that they wanted to meet up again."  
Philomena and Jamie bowed their heads.  
"That could be it," Jamie said. "Maybe we should talk to him about the accident, maybe he can remember it if we bring it up, or maybe it will help him remember all the other things," Jamie suggested.  
"It's at least worth a try," Philomena said.  
Ben nodded.

Benedict put his hand on Philomena's shoulder.  
"About earlier,.... Martin will call you if he needs anything. He knows how much you worry and care about him, and he really appreciates it. He loves you a lot – it was just too much the last couple of days and coming back home to a house he doesn't know. Nevertheless, I’m sure he would be very thankful and happy to see you two for breakfast," he smiled at Philomena.  
Martin's mother looked up at Benedict, smiled at him, and nodded.  
"Perhaps we should call him in the morning and ask him - I can understand him, but I don't want to leave him alone either," she admitted.  
"That's understandable; I'd also like to watch him 24/7, I think we'd all like to do that. But I think we would also like to be alone if we were in Martin's situation right now. There are so many things he doesn't know any longer, he doesn't know a lot of people any longer, and some of them suddenly look much older, including himself. I think it is hard to sit in this strange house, to see a strange person in the mirror and to have people around him who are strangers or suddenly looking much older to him. Just call him in the morning and ask him," Ben smiled. “But I think he would love to have you around for a little breakfast visit. I mean you two know him; you know he loves you two a lot and loves to spend time with you two – that hasn’t changed just because he lost his memory.”

Philomena nodded with a smile.  
"You're right," she nodded with a bright smile, even though she had a hard time giving her youngest son this desired alone-time - but Ben was right. "We'll call him in the morning. I'm glad you were with him tonight and kept him company. You're doing him very well, one has already noticed that in the hospital," she smiled. "Have a safe drive home – and thank you for making my son feel much better," she continued to smile and caressed his upper arm once more.  
Ben nodded with a smile, patted her shoulder and then looked to Jamie.   
They smiled at each other, patting their shoulders.  
"See you, Ben."  
"See you," Benedict smiled.

They raised their hands again and went to their cars.  
Benedict with a good and warm feeling because of that lovely evening.  
Jamie with a slightly relieved feeling, with looking forward to his home, with joy because his mother was now reassured and satisfied.  
Philomena with a relieved and carefree feeling because Martin was okay.

The next morning, shortly after waking up, Martin also had a pleasant and warm feeling; a gentle tingling, an uplifting feeling in hi whole body.  
A note from Benedict, with a somewhat ambiguous/loving message - which promised a little more depending on how one read it.

__**Good morning Martin,  
I hope that one day I may fall asleep next to you, finding a note of you in the next morning, or you - hand in hand. The evening was lovely - and if you still don't want to wean yourself from my presence every evening, I will be happy to come over in the evening again. Have a nice day today.  
I'll talk to you later, kiddo.  
Benny.**


	18. Old Stories

_**\- Monday, August/29 – 2016, afternoon, Potters Bar, Martin‘s house -** _

The first weekend in his new old house, Martin had survived relatively well - at least much better than he had expected in hospital. Which was probably also due to the fact that he had never been completely alone.   
On Friday Benedict had visited him.   
On Saturday morning his mother with James, Jamie and Stevie had visited him and in the evening Benedict had visited him again.  
On Sunday Simon had been with him for a short time, hadn't wanted to disturb him for too long; he had actually just asked how things were going and if he needed anything - and in the evening Benedict had been with him again.   
Benedict still was the very best visitor - in fact he could relax with Ben fast and easy. The others also tried really hard, were helping and supporting him, distracted him and listened to him, left him alone when he wanted to be alone, they were also doing an amazing job - and still they weren’t able to make him feel as calm and relaxed, as secure and safe as Benedict.  
There was something special about him, and he still hasn’t figured out what it was.

For three weeks, and if you count the time in the intensive care unit, even four weeks, his memories of the last 16 years were completely gone, there was mainly darkness, just a few colourful spots.   
Some information he had gotten from doctors, his friends and family - in the end it wasn't that much, even if Martin thought it was too much.   
He hadn't even looked for himself on the internet - he preferred to avoid it. Who knows what information would be waiting for him. Probably too much and too complex information, which he would find difficult to process and which would cause him even more headaches.  
The stories of his friends and family were enough - more than that.

Today he had rummaged through his cupboards again, which was not only exhausting for his head, but also for his body - both the cast and the figure-of-eight bandage hindered him quite a bit, and not every sitting, standing and squatting position was comfortable and painless for his leg.   
He made only slow progress.  
Actually, this shouldn't bother him at all - because it allowed him to give his head a little rest again and again. And yet it annoyed him, because he wanted to absorb everything and waited for the hoped-for click with every little object - and thus he overestimated his own limits several times a day.

At the moment he was lying on the garden lounger in the garden, relaxing in the sun after eating the last piece of the little cheesecake that Simon had brought him on Sunday - with the information that it had been baked by Maureen, that he apparently liked it quite a lot and that he hoped every time he was visiting them that Maureen had baked her famous cheesecake.  
He had already been able to say, even after the first piece on Sunday, that it was extremely delicious.  
Just right before he had eaten that delicious last piece of cheesecake, he had finally found his account papers – he probably would have been able to get all these informations from his bank by showing up personally, but it had looked like a too stressful trip, so he had just looked through his office over and over again. And when he had finally found them after lunch, along with passwords and codes, he had sit for ten straight minutes starring at his bank balance – with big eyes and an open mouth, blinking over and over again, not quite believing that he owned such a huge amount of money. He had even looked it up again before having the last piece of cake, just to make sure his eyes were working – and he had just looked it up again before lying down on the sun lounger, just to make sure his eyes were really working, along with his knowledge of numbers and their meaning.  
Now he knew that he would’ve been able to buy a much bigger house, with even a much bigger garden, right in central London, along with a whole house just full of clothes and accessories, records, books and sweets – and he still wouldn’t know how to spend the rest of his money. 

His eyes were closed, but he neither slept nor dozed. He just rested and enjoyed the sun rays after it had rained the last two days.  
The muffled ringing at the front door made Martin open his eyes again. He listened a little closer, heard the dull ringing again and then sat up.  
He got up, took the cane, crossed the garden and the hallway. He stopped at the front door and opened it.

Amanda beamed at him, smiling a broad friendly smile.  
"Hello."  
Martin bowed his head, smiled too.  
"Hey Amanda."  
"Am I disturbing you?" Amanda asked with a smile.  
"No. No, you don’t. Come in," he smiled and stepped aside. "Sorry, it took so long, I was in the garden."  
Amanda entered with a smile.  
"It's okay, Martin. I've heard that before. When the weather's good you're usually in the garden and then it even takes you half an eternity without your Watson's stick. If you hadn't opened the door I would have sneaked past the house, climbed over the garden fence and come straight into your garden. It wouldn't have been the first time - sometimes you're really deaf, absorbed in a book, your thoughts or you just fell asleep," she grinned.  
Martin smiled and grinned slightly.  
"The fence is quite high."  
"And I'm pretty sporty," she grinned. "If I want to get to you, I'll get in somehow - even if I have to climb over the fence."  
Martin grinned and closed the door.  
"This time you came in by the front door and you may go into the garden through the hallway.  
"Excellent." she smiled and walked ahead.

Martin followed her into the garden, on whose terrace Amanda had put her handbag.   
Martin was gently hugged by Amanda and a kiss was pressed against his cheek.  
He smiled. He still remembered it - that's how they had greeted each other 16 years ago and that's how they still greet each other today, even if it had become slightly more intimate. At least the kiss felt a little longer and firmer, as did the hug.  
He also pressed a kiss on her cheek.  
"Good to see you. It's great to have someone here who is at least a little bit familiar to me. And you don't seem to have aged much either."  
Amanda smiled broadly.  
"Thanks for the charming compliment," she patted Martin's cheek, who smiled a little more. "It's nice to see you, too. How were your first days in your rather beautiful house?", she asked.  
"I've somehow felt everything you can feel in the last few days, ... actually since I woke up in the hospital. The house is great, I love it, I really do – and I can see why I fell in love with it and bought it. I had visitors, looked around, got to know my house and garden. I feel comfortable here, even though it's weird that this house looks familiar and at the same time I feel like I've never been here before - but I expected it to be much worse than it actually is," he said, shrugging his shoulders. 

Amanda nodded understandingly, followed Martin, who went back to the sun loungers.  
"I know that you love this house even if you would have liked to stay in the city," she smiled and sat down on one of the sun loungers. "Take your time, Martin. You need time to rest, too."  
"That's what the others always say," Martin said and sat down opposite Amanda, put the stick back on the grass.  
"And whose orders are you following," Amanda smiled, who suspected that Martin had probably been trudging through the house most of the day looking for his memories - which she couldn't blame him for, she would have done the exact same thing.  
She loved Martin on a friendly basis very much, she suffered with him and if it were possible, she would swap places with Martin, just to give his beloved friend all the memories back he had lost.  
"Only Ben’s orders," Martin muttered.  
"At least you follow his orders," Amanda smiled. "I'm really glad that Ben is having a break right now. I think your friendship benefits from it - you finally have a little more time for your friendship, even if the reason is very unpleasant."  
Martin nodded.  
"Hmh, I'm also very glad that he has some time off, and that the chemistry we seem to have was back immediately. Don't get me wrong,... I am so incredibly grateful for every visit, for every help, for your stories, for everything you are doing for me. But Ben is somehow a special one - when he's around, I feel much better, safer, more comfortable, relieved and relaxed," he admitted honestly.  
"That's perfectly fine. No one is angry with you, Martin. We're all glad there's someone you can feel all this with."

Martin looked at her with relief.  
Amanda stretched out her hand, rubbed reassuringly and smilingly over Martin's thigh.  
"Stop worrying so much. We're all happy to help you, because you've helped us often enough and always do everything possible, without asking for anything," she winked. "By the way, I met your mother.”  
Martin tilted his head, was immediately distracted by Amanda's second statement.  
"Really? Where and when?" he asked.  
"Yesterday in London," Amanda smiled.  
"What was she doing there?"  
"She was having coffee and cake with your niece Helen," she said. "We had a little talk."  
"With Helen?", he asked in amazement, then rubbed his neck in shame. "Oh, yeah... Jesus, sometimes I forget that they're all much older." He sighed. "What did you talk about?"

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," she smiled. "I know you're very overwhelmed and overchallenged by all this right now and it's very confusing for you too - we've already talked about that. It's okay, Martin," she said gently and saw Martin nodding slightly. "We've talked about you. She told me that you wanted to be alone the first night, then didn't call and she came here with Jamie and met Ben. She told me they were having breakfast with you on Saturday."  
"Hmm, yeah, I forgot about that because I was too busy with the house and then Benedict was here. In the morning she told me that she had been very worried about me."  
Amanda smiled.  
"And Jamie got a ticket; Helen told me, she thought it was pretty funny."  
Martin grinned.  
"Me too - but my mother was always like that. Something that hasn't changed since then it seems. She was always good at driving everyone crazy with her wild speculations."

Amanda continued to grin, patted Martin's thigh, smiled.  
"She wanted to tell you about a bike accident on Saturday, but Jamie and she forgot about it."  
"The accident I had?" Martin asked.  
"No, not the one a few weeks ago. Another bicycle accident you had," Amanda said calmly.  
"As a child? I only know that I once rode my bike down a small hill as a child. I was dodging a puddle and I fell with my bike. I landed in the puddle. But I never told her that. It happened with my dad."  
Amanda gently grinned to herself.  
"I didn't know that story before either. You should have just gone for the puddle, you slob."  
"I didn't want to get my clothes dirty," Martin defended himself with a grin.  
"It worked out wonderfully," Amanda grinned.

Martin pursed his lips but smiled.  
Amanda grinned at him, then shook her head with a smile.

"It's about a bicycle accident you had when we met."  
"I wasn't in a bike accident then," Martin said convinced that he was right.  
Amanda tilted her head.  
"You had a little accident, Martin. I had forgotten all about it myself."  
"I really had an accident back then?", Martin now asked uncertainly.  
"Yes, you fell off your bike," Amanda said calmly.  
"I don't know anything about that," Martin muttered.  
"Sometimes the length of a memory gap goes back to when you have experienced something similar. Ben, Jamie and your mother had been talking about it when Ben met your mother and Jamie. They thought that you might remember, if you knew what happened in the bike accident back then. Shall we try this together?" she asked softly.  
Martin swallowed, had listened, he nodded slowly.  
"Hmh."

Amanda reached out, caressing Martin's upper arm.  
"The accident that night also happened over the weekend. Also in August. We knew each other for a few months. You had invited me to dinner and a movie, and then we went out for a drink. We went out for pizza and watched X-Men with Ian McKellen.”  
Martin interrupted her.  
"Ian McKellen rings a bell. He was going to play Gandalf in Lord of the Rings and I've seen other films with him. I really like him as an actor. Do I know him?", he asked, and swallowed down the lump in his throat, which had formed immediately when he realised that nothing was familiar to him yet, apart from that name.  
"That's right," Amanda smiled. "And yes, you know Ian. He's a friend of yours. You're good friends. He also played Gandalf in the Hobbit trilogy - and he was quite enthusiastic about you. Especially of what you can convey to the audience with just your facial expressions. He is very enthusiastic about you," she smiled.  
Martin scratched the back of his head - he had actually wanted to look for set pictures on his laptop, but he seemed to have forgotten about that.  
"Sounds funny," he muttered. "Does he know what happened, including what's not in the papers?"  
"He knows." Amanda nodded. "A lot of your friends know, Martin. They all wish you a speedy recovery. Some of them are on pins and needles. They'd like to visit you, but they don’t want to overchallenge you even more with visits, phone calls and text messages.”  
"That's nice. Can you tell them thanks from me?"  
"I'll do that, Martin," she smiled reassuringly. 

Martin breathed out in relief, chewed on his lower lip, looked at Amanda again - expectantly.  
Amanda smiled softly and went on.  
"Afterwards we went for a drink at the Odeon Cinema on Piccadilly Circus, there was a bar there, but it no longer exists. And then you took me home on your bike. You took me all the way to Kensington. And then you drove through Hyde Park, past Piccadilly Circus again and back to your home. You lived right in the city at the time, near St. Paul's Cathedral. You fell in Hyde Park, but didn't really hurt yourself. You just limped a little and your hands were a little scraped, your knee too, and your ankle a little thicker and sprained. On Monday, we met at your place, cooked dinner together, and you told me."  
Martin looked at her with empty eyes, question marks were written on his forehead and in his eyes, and frustration was written all over his face.

Amanda changed places, came over to Martin. She put one arm around him, pulling him closer.  
"Let's just forget about it, Martin. Don't think about it too long. It was just a little fall. It was just an attempt. And all of us together, and you as well, we won't miss any attempt to get back to your memories. This one failed, so let's just forget about it and move on. Maybe the next one will work," she said calmly. "No one's giving up, we're not and neither are you." She breathed a kiss on his grey hair. "I didn't want you to feel bad, so I'll distract you now and tell you something I've just heard from your mother," she said, and gave Martin no chance to fall into gloomy and black thoughts. "You told your family about it, and said that this is what you got for your very sweet and charming manner - a bounced knee, a thick ankle and burning hands." She couldn't help laughing. "This can only come from you, Martin! I'll tell you what else you got out of it. A very happy friend. The gesture was really very obliging and meant a lot to me. You were a great friend and you still are today," she said in a warm voice.

Martin had not laughed, he was not in the mood for it. But at least he had smiled and half grinned.   
His head was still lying on Amanda's shoulder. His shoulders hung down.

Hopefully his memories would come back before he and the others would run out of prospects.


	19. Can You Help Me?

_**\- Tuesday, September/4 – 2016, before lunchtime, Potters Bar, Martin’s house -** _

The frustration, shame and waiting did not end.  
At least that was what Martin was feeling.  
He had the feeling that he couldn't get any further, that he was only treading water, maybe even walking backwards.   
He became more frustrated day by day, even though Benedict was with him in the evening, calmed him down, distracted him, cheered him up.   
But once Benedict was gone again, the frustration and the gloomy thoughts came back as quickly as they disappeared when Benedict arrived.

His feelings were still riding a rollercoaster, but were mostly on the dark side.  
Anger, despair, sadness, frustration, shame.  
His head blocked the way to the light switch - and he blocked it more and more as he tried harder and harder to get at his memories back.   
He wanted too much, he knew that himself, and so he didn't really contribute to his memories coming back - and yet he tried again and again, as if he wouldn't learn from it.   
His inner voice simply told him that he could not sit around idly.

He was missing 16 years of his life, how could they come back if he just sat comfortably on the couch and waited?  
How would these memories ever come back?  
It felt like the accident had happened ages ago - even if it was only 30 days ago.  
In the end a month.  
One month - and the doctor, who kept telling him to be patient, to try to rest, to avoid stress, to listen to stories, that it was not a special case that amnesia could last for months, didn't calm him down at all.  
He liked his doctor; he was really nice and competent, but he just couldn't put himself in his place, he didn't know how terrible it was to lose a third of his life.

Today he would get to know someone new, a friend he made in the last 16 years.   
Mark.  
Mark Gatiss, screenwriter and actor - seen in BBC Sherlock as Mycroft Holmes. 

Martin hadn't done any research on Mark.  
He roughly knew what he looked like by watching the three seasons and the Special of Sherlock.  
He knew from Ben that Mark was also working as a screenwriter for the series, as well as a producer, and that he was also working as an actor in other areas – for example in theatre.  
And he also knew his date of birth, because he had written that down in his calendar.

He wanted to be surprised - it didn't really change anything, whether he learned it from the internet or from Mark himself.   
Apart from the fact that he would then at least have some prior knowledge.  
But if he would hear it directly from Mark, it would have more the character of a getting to know him again and he could ask him his own questions.

He was curious about Mark, according to Benedict they were good friends.  
He had no real expectations - he just hoped that he would find him as likeable as all the other people he had met in the last days and weeks - or had seen again after 16 years.

The doorbell gave him a bit of a fright; he had been standing in the kitchen, completely in his thoughts.  
He walked to the door without his cane - opened his front door.  
To be honest, he was excited now - his heart was racing.  
His eyes flitted up into the face of his visitor, who was taller than himself, and who even seemed a little bit taller than Benedict.

Mark stood casually in front of the door, with loose beige trousers, a dark blue t-shirt, beard and glasses - his hair was not nearly as dark as Mycroft's.  
"Hey," he said in a happy and pleasant voice.  
Martin looked at him, his eyes flitted over Mark's body, his heart was still beating excitedly. He eyed Mark from top to bottom and then looked up in his face again, hoping for a click, and surprised that Mark looked so different from Mycroft - his hair hadn't really looked like they had dyed it for the show.  
"Hello Mark," he said, somewhat reluctantly, and stepped aside.

Mark smiled at him, entered the house and closed the door for Martin.  
"Nice to see you at last. We usually greet each other with a hug, shall we do that today or do you want to skip it?", he asked.  
"Ahem." Martin scratched the back of his head. "Let's do it like we usually do," he decided, hoping to remember eventually.  
Mark smiled enthusiastically, hugged him carefully and not quite as euphoric as usual; the figure-of-eight bandage was a bit of a hindrance.  
Martin patted his back. 

The hug remained friendly, and yet a little longer than usual, because Mark was just happy to finally see his good friend and colleague, and to convince himself that everything was fine with him so far. The shock in the last weeks, especially at the beginning, had been deep.  
They slowly stopped hugging each other.  
And Martin looked again at Mark's face, who started to smirk.  
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, I'm taken," he grinned at Martin's examination.  
It made Martin grin.  
"Would I have any chance at all?"  
Mark smiled and winked.  
"Definitely the right gender."  
Martin smiled.  
"Do I know your husband?"  
Mark smiled and nodded.  
"You know Ian. He's been on the Sherlock Set a few times and he had a guest appearance."  
Martin nodded.  
"Okay, unfortunately, neither Ian nor you click. Let's go into the living room, Mark. Do you want something to drink?" he asked.  
Mark shook his head.  
"I'm fine," he smiled and then squeezed Martin's shoulder. "Just get to know me and Ian again and one day someone will click. You must have heard that a thousand times. I can't really put myself in your shoes, but I can guess how hard it is for you. I probably would take every opportunity to remember something. Even though we all know it's not really helpful to push ourselves too hard. Just don't give up, Martin - and try to take care of yourself in all your attempts," he said amicably, squeezing Martin's shoulders again, who nodded slowly.

They looked at each other again briefly, then walked into the living room and sat down next to each other on the sofa.  
Mark turned a little more towards Martin, who also turned his body a little more towards Mark.  
He was still excited, but he was more than satisfied with his visitor - the only expectation he had had was fulfilled. Mark was clearly as sympathetic as all the people before. It felt almost familiar. Maybe it was - apparently they spent a lot of time together as cast and crew, maybe it was like a big family reunion when you met for a series again and again in almost the same constellation.

Mark smiled at him, started the conversation again.  
"Apart from the big memory gap, how are you?" he asked.  
"Apart from that, things are getting better. Climbing the stairs is not so unpleasant any longer and the more days go by the closer the day comes when I won't have to use that walking stick any longer. And probably the figure-of-eight bandage and cast will come off by the end of next week."  
"That sounds good. You look much better already. I was in the hospital with Ian when you were in intensive care."  
"I didn't know that yet."  
Mark smiled.  
"We were there - Sunday. I think you had quite a few visitors during that time. And when we learned about your memory loss, we thought it’s best when we won’t come over for a visit, since you have to deal with yourself and your family. Ian and I weren't the only ones who held back visits. You've met so many people through your job, a lot of them are your friends now – but we all wanted to wait until you settle down a bit more, until you feel a bit better. But to be honest, it's a great relief to see you again," Mark smiled.  
Martin ran his hand through his hair, nodded and smiled.  
"Hmm, I'm more than overwhelmed and overchallenged – most of the time at the moment. I'm very grateful that you didn’t visit me. But it's great to meet you all again - now," he said honestly. "You’re very nice and sympathetic," he smiled.  
Mark grinned gently.  
"I am showing myself from my good and nice side. I'll not show the cheeky, torturous and nasty side for now."  
Martin smirked.  
"Did I like this side of you, too?"  
"I think so," Mark grinned. "At least you often supported and helped me or laughed at the pranks and jokes."  
"Okay, then I seem to like this side of you, too," Martin grinned.

His eyes rested on Mark; he remained silent, chewed on his lower lip, ran his hand through his hair again.  
"Mark? Um, how good is our friendship?"  
"I would say that we are very good friends. We keep in touch even between seasons, call each other, text each other, try to meet up – it’s not that easy with your schedule."  
"Have we talked with each other? Like, have we talked about private things, more intimate things?", Martin asked carefully.  
Mark tilted his head.  
"Something is on your mind, the way you ask me. To your question, we talked about private and more intimate things. Not everything, but we can talk about it. At least I know you have an open ear, and you know you can come to me when things get a little more private and intimate."

Martin chewed on his lower lip again. He took a deep breath.  
"Um, maybe you can help me," Martin said uncertainly. "I've got a question that's been bothering me more than your age or where exactly you live and all that stuff."  
Mark smiled.  
"It's not that important, is it?" he smiled. "Just ask me. I'd love to help you."  
Martin ran his fingers through his hair, rubbed his neck.  
"It's about Ben and me," Martin said. "How would you describe our relationship?"  
Mark tilted his head.  
"You are very close friends, you have an incredible chemistry that neither we nor you can fully comprehend. The chemistry is present in your private life as well as professionally and also in front of the camera. And I would say, if you had a normal job with regulated working hours, you would probably be constantly hanging around with each other. I think you could even live with each other 24/7 without being annoyed of each other at any point," he winked. "Something like this. Now you have the opportunity to spend a lot of time with each other, and you do it," he smiled. "You have a really great and close friendship." Even before Martin could say anything, Mark continued. "Why are you asking me this? Do you doubt it?", he asked cautiously.  
Martin shook his head.  
"Not directly." He rubbed his neck again. "Well. Um, not in that way," he said. "Um... Ben is very present in my house. In my calendar you can find all the public appointments Ben has,... but not of any other friend,... and well, I found a few other things here in the house," he muttered insecurely, almost shyly, reservedly - quite untypical for himself. "Did I ever somehow tell you that I feel more for him than friendship, or did he ever say something like that to you?" he asked hastily.

Mark looked at him with big eyes and pricked ears. He was stunned by the question because they had never talked about it before. Apart from the fact that they had talked about it jokingly and had rather ridiculed it. Speaking of himself, he could well say that he felt that his two friends were a good match, both in their looks and personalities. In fact, he had only been waiting for this since they met on set. And if he was completely honest, until recently he had believed that Ben would rather end up in a relationship with Martin than becoming a father. Eventually he had been proofed wrong.

"Neither of you had ever seriously discussed it, at least not with me. We used to joke about it from time to time, and you played the game to a certain point. There were jokes because you were so close to each other that sometimes it felt like you would be married for years by now. I'm afraid I can't really help you, Martin. You never told me you felt more for Ben," he said. "It wouldn't be fair to Ben to divulge what we talked about. But in your present situation, which is already confusing and difficult enough, I will say something about it. Ben never said anything like that to me either, neither directly nor implied," he said softly. "Sorry Martin, I would have helped you. Maybe you said something like that to Jamie or Simon, or Amanda – even so were are very good friends, you have a closer relationship to them than to me."  
Martin nodded slowly, sighed, let his shoulders drop a little.  
"Thanks anyway," he said and then shook his head. "I know Jamie well enough to know that he would have told me about this anyway. And I spoke to Simon about relationships on one of his visits, and I'm pretty sure he would have told me if I'd ever mentioned anything like that to him. And Amanda,… it’s like she is almost more concerned about me than my mum, I’m sure she would’ve let me know, if she would knew something about a love interest."  
Mark nodded.  
"Okay," he said. "May I ask a counter-question? Is there a change you would tell me something like this now? Are there feelings for Ben?”

Martin looked at him, scratched his cheek.   
It was a strange mixed feeling he felt when looking at Mark next to him. He seemed so familiar to him; he felt safe with him, even comfortable - even if it didn't come close to the feeling Ben was causing. And yet, his head told him that he didn't know this man, that he was a stranger whom he had only just met when he opened the door.  
It was easy to talk to him, it was amazingly easy to open up - even though he was a stranger; actually a currently unknown friend.  
He nodded.  
"Hmm, ... I think so. It's confusing. I,... yeah, I think there's more. I actually think I'm falling madly in love with Ben. Which is weird, because somehow I just met him. So at least that's what my head tells me."

Mark smiled.

"I'll answer you as if the accident hadn't happened, as if you still remember everything," Mark said with a smile "It's about time!" he sighed.

Martin tilted his head, looked confused with big eyes.

"You expected this?" he asked.  
"I hoped for it, that’s more accurate. You are incredibly close to each other. I don't know, Martin. When you get to know someone, you ask yourself what they do for a living, if this person is in a relationship, with whom this person is in a relationship - and all that kind of stuff. And before you're told, you have your own impression or the optimal scenario for yourself. And I've somehow always seen you with Ben, and Ben always with you. I was even disappointed when you were in a relationship. I mean, you don't have to make me happy, and yet somehow it disappointed me. It's funny with you two," he smiled. "You found out earlier that I'm homosexual. I know you're bisexual - so now you also know that I don't care who's in love with whom. I'm afraid I can't really help you with information. I can only give you advice. Enjoy the feeling, explore further - wait until you can remember to find out what you two have been talking about, what you felt before. I know how anxious you are about not hurting Benedict in any way - so wait until you can remember before something hurtful happens. I don't know what you talked about, Ben hasn't talked to me about it, neither have you until now. I don't have any information. So my advice would be to wait and enjoy it until then," he smiled.

Martin bowed his head.  
"I know what you mean. I don’t know what we talked about, what it was like before," he said and Mark nodded. "I wouldn't have said anything yet anyway. I'll definitely wait. The feeling is still too new and I am confused, even though I feel kind of absolutely sure about it. There are two sides to everything at the moment. I feel like I've really fallen in love for the first time with him, I feel like I've fallen in love with Ben again - and then I feel like everything is just incredibly weird because I've only just met him. I'm kind of constantly confused these days."  
Mark smiled.  
"Probably because only your head tells you that you don't know anything about the last 16 years. But your gut and heart can tell you what is familiar and what is not. I think that's what makes everything so confusing. Your head just saw me for the first time and yet you spoke to me so openly and intimately - because your gut seemed to give you a very clear signal that you can trust me, that you trust me, that I am a trusted person," he smiled. "Martin, just enjoy it. Try to turn your head off a bit and let your gut do its work. It's difficult for you in principle, but maybe you can try it and release the blockage in your head," he patted Martin's thigh.

Martin nodded.  
"It’s worth a try to brood less and just feel."  
Mark nodded with a smile.  
"You have nothing to lose."  
"Thank you."  
"For what? I couldn't help you with your real question, and I would've really like to."  
"Your advice and your suggestion also helped. Your visit helps too," he smiled. 

A large part of his frustration was gone for the moment.   
A new idea, a new attempt, a new hope.  
The prospects did not run out.  
Something that gave him hope and confidence.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mark," Martin smiled.

Mark smiled at him, winking encouragingly.  
Apparently, he had been able to help his friend after all.


	20. Fans

_**\- Tuesday, September/13 – 2016, London, Streets of London -** _

A bit more than two weeks had passed since Martin had been discharged from the hospital.  
Two weeks in which quite a lot had happened and changed.  
Yesterday he had been to the doctor again; he didn’t need the plastered cast and figure-of-eight bandage any longer. It was a great feeling, an unbelievable liberating feeling not to be stuck in this bandage and the cast any longer. He knew that he still wasn’t allowed to use his wrist and collarbone in the way he did before the accident – he had been told this several times and he was feeling it, but yet it was such a pleasant and liberating feeling. He had less strength, he could not move his wrist sufficiently and it was also rather painful to support himself with it. But he had been prescribed physiotherapy and with that it would certainly get better again - he was sure of that. Also his collarbone was not completely healed yet, but he was allowed to use it partially - it would still take a while until he would be able to use it like he was used to. He had already noticed it yesterday; he couldn’t raise his arm over his head - but it was a beginning and this was already a small step forward.  
Step by step - it got better and that calmed him down a bit.

He still had the walking stick for his femoral neck fracture and he would carry it around with him for four more weeks. In the end, this cane didn't really bother him - it was simply his companion and through it he had much less pain while walking. The pain was bearable, even without the cane, but with the cane it was almost gone. And since a few days, he was even able to use the stairs in his house without avoiding them as often as possible during the day.

His house - his house still seemed strangely familiar and unfamiliar to him. For the last two weeks he had searched all the rooms, all the cupboards, all the boxes and baskets and drawers and folders. He had searched the whole house, knew his way, knew it blindly, every little spot, knew where everything was standing and to be found, and yet this exploration had frustrated him incredibly.  
He had hoped for a memory in every room, in every box, drawer, basket, cupboard, folder - but he hadn’t found any memory, not one, not even a small one, not a tiny one, not even the smallest piece of a memory. Nothing had told him anything - at least not what he had accumulated and purchased over the last 16 years.  
He had been frustrated, had cried with sadness, with anger and shame - sometimes with happiness, when he saw all the pictures of the people who had joined his family and friends in the last 16 years.  
He had become angry, sad, desperate, ashamed, panicky, grumpy. He had been disappointed, every time - especially with himself.  
His feelings had gone crazy. They had partly switched back and forth in minute or second intervals. He had been happy, he had laughed, then suddenly he had become angry, happy again, sad, disappointed, angry, happy, frustrated.  
He had been completely overwhelmed and overchallenged - with everyone who had visited him, with everyone he had visited, with pictures, texts, phone calls, videos and items in his house; he even had been become very sad and teary because of his father’s dead when he had found a few things that had belonged to him.  
He had only felt really comfortable with one person, only one person had managed to calm him down very quickly, to make him laugh deeply and hearty, authentically and truthfully, to switch off these emotional fluctuations and this overstraining for a few moments.  
Benedict.

Benny, his Benny, his colleague and friend.

At the first second reunion this man had immediately brought back the chemistry they had had before his accident. This man had managed to awaken deep feelings in him - feelings that were actually inappropriate for a friendship.  
Due to Ben's care and attention, due to Ben's closeness and presence, due to the bedtime stories and the daily visits, due to making him laugh, due to talking, fooling around, listening and comforting, due to all the other gestures, big and small, Ben had managed to make Martin fall in love with him.  
He had fallen in love with Benedict, he could feel his tummy tingling and his heart racing as soon as Benny texted him, called him, was with him – when he was just thinking about him. He could feel the desire to touch him constantly, to hug him, to kiss him - and he could feel the desire to get exactly that from Ben. In the last two weeks he had only dreamed about Ben - he couldn't remember that he had ever dreamed of someone or something so often and so intensely; he couldn't remember that he had ever dreamed so intensely, because he could actually remember all the dreams of the last two weeks.  
He had fallen head over heels in love with Benedict – not just because Benedict was helping him, he had fallen in love with Ben's personality and also with this slender, muscly and tall body, with the incredibly fascinating eyes and the extraordinary cheekbones and lips.

Benedict was just with him right now, or should he say he was just with Benedict?  
In the end Martin had called his bodyguard (Simon had showed up a couple of days ago, introducing himself, giving him some more information, about himself, about their professional and private relationship and friendship – he had been and still was quite amazed that he had some kind of bodyguard, who was also driving him wherever he wanted to go; a very nice guy, cool and calm and yet quite entertaining and absolutely trustworthy), he had called him, Simon had come over, had driven him to Benedict’s house in London.  
He had been appointed with Benedict for breakfast,… and for the rest of the day, too.  
They had had breakfast, they had talked and they had watched a film of Martin, which he hadn't managed to see in the last two weeks - as soon as someone was with him, he took the opportunity to watch his films and series with emotional support.  
And during their morning and afternoon he hadn’t missed an opportunity to touch Ben - every time on purpose, even if he had sometimes pretended it had been completely by accident. 

After the film, Benedict had persuaded him to go out for a walk, strolling around London, enjoying the fresh air, and maybe a coffee somewhere.  
They had drunk the coffee, and now they were strolling through the streets of London again, through a London that looked completely different than it did 16 years ago.

Martin walked next to Benedict, in a light blue shirt with his sleeves rolled up, with dark blue jeans and white Sneakers – even in his casual clothes he looked absolutely dapper. The sun was shining in his face, warming it.  
He ran his hand and fingers through his hair, rubbing his bearded cheek.  
He glanced briefly at Benedict, who was strolling next to him in a white t-shirt and dark blue trousers.  
Benedict turned his head away from the Thames towards Martin, smiling down.  
"Do you want to take a break?", he asked softly and pointed to the cane.  
"It's still alright. I’m fine. The day is great, ... and with the cane, walking is really pleasant. I lay around long enough and at home I didn't really walk at all. It is nice to go for a real walk again," Martin smiled.  
Ben smiled warmly, put his hand on Martin's shoulder blade.  
"Just let me know when it is too much, not just the walking, but London as well."  
Martin nodded with a smile, enjoying Ben's hand, and had no idea that Ben had also enjoyed the physical contact quite a lot.  
"You're making it very easy for me, Benny. It feels very pleasant and comfortable with you – walking and London."  
Ben winked softly, caressed Martin's shoulder blade, squeezed his shoulder and put his hand down again - albeit rather unwillingly.

So far they had been able to spend their time in the city without being stopped by fans.  
So far - but now here at the Thames, at the river, at this incredibly beautiful and warm summer day, it changed.  
Many people they had met on their stroll through London’s street and Ben knew they had been recognized several times, even though nobody had said a word or greeted them. But now two girls walked towards them, or rather two young women, who not only recognized them, but who would certainly speak to them - they were already beaming, running right towards them.

The blonde young woman and the redhead stopped in front of Ben and Martin.  
"Hello," beamed the redhead, gazing at Ben and Martin with a happy, radiant and enthusiastic smile. "May we bother you a moment?" she asked, rather hopefully with a German accent.  
Martin had stopped with Benedict, looked at them - he had to hide his confusion – he was quite confused that these two girls had walked to them to speak with them.  
Ben smiled, taking the lead; Martin seemed to be completely overwhelmed and overchallenged with the situation.  
"Of course, you two can ‘bother’ us for a moment," he smiled, not wanting to disappoint them, because he knew from Mark, Amanda, Simon and Jamie how much the fans cared about Martin, that they were very concerned and worried. In the last five weeks since the accident, all they had gotten was the information about a serious accident, that he was in hospital and that he had been discharged two weeks ago.  
Both women showed how worried they had been.

The blonde and redhead looked incredibly relieved to see Martin.  
They were not the only ones who had been worried and had been waiting anxiously for a picture of Martin. They only had the information from the newspapers and the internet and they were not always very trustworthy; actually seeing Martin now showed them that he was doing quite well - even if they had no idea that Martin could not remember the last 16 years. And therefore also not the fame.

The blonde woman beamed at Martin, her eyes were sparkling, almost shaped like hearts.  
"Thank you! It's amazing to see you, Martin! We were all quite worried, there hadn’t been any photos of you for ages. But you seem to be better again, at least you're finally out of the hospital again," she babbled nervously, a bit hastily. She beamed with relief, pointed to the walking stick. "Is this still from your broken femur neck? Now you look a bit more like Watson," she smirked encouragingly.  
Martin blinked a few times, took a step closer to Ben, now touching his side with his side. His heart was racing like mad, this time not mainly because of Benedict, but much more because of those two women. He was completely overwhelmed and overchallenged. He was sure he had been used to it; he was sure he had been used to be addressed much more often - but now the two women were already too much for him. Two fans were two fans too much for him at the moment.

He looked at them; his hand grabbed the cane a bit harder, the other ran through his hair and rubbed his neck, was shaking; the tongue licked nervously across his lips.  
He had absolutely no idea how he usually dealt with fans, how he talked to them, if he even exchanged big words with them, if he was doing smalltalk or not. He licked his lips nervously again, but the fans seemed to like this picture of lip-licking.  
"Um... yes. I'm better now," he murmured. He desperately needed an excuse so that it wouldn't be too obvious that he might react in a completely atypical way. "I'm better, but I'm still pretty exhausted and… like in a whole other world,… painkillers and all," he said, and it wasn't really that much of a lie. What else did they ask? Oh yes, the walking stick, and they had said something about Watson. He rubbed his neck nervously again. "I'll have the cane for a while because of the surgery,... so I'll still be… John Watson for the next four weeks," he smiled, rather insecurely.  
The women beamed, sparkled, grinned and smirked, smiled softly and compassionately.  
“Oh, yes, you look a bit stressed, but it's still great to finally see that you are doing better. And it’s great to meet you and Ben. We come from Germany and are only here on holiday. The holiday couldn't be better, it's amazing that we actually meet you here," the redhead beamed. "We've already seen you on stage – Richard the 3rd. The play was amazing and you just fantastic and outstanding, it was such a joy to see you live on stage, but unfortunately we didn't catch you at the stage door afterwards.”

Martin's heart raced even faster.  
Richard the 3rd? Stage? Stage door? What were they talking about? He hadn't even talked about theatre plays with Ben and the others. But he had found something of Richard the 3rd in his house - an award. Actually he had wanted to talk with Ben about it, but apparently he had forgotten that, like many other things.  
This whole situation overwhelmed and overchallenged him, frightened him and it intimidated him quite a lot. But apparently his acting skills still worked when the two of them thought that he just looked a bit stressed - because actually he was completely stressed, actually he wanted to escape, to run away, far far away, as far away as it was possible to run away.  
His hands grabbed the walking stick and Ben's t-shirt at the lower back.  
He noticed he was starting to sweat and he felt the headache that slowly took over the comfortableness with the dizziness and a quite sick feeling in his stomach.  
He urgently needed to think of an answer - and that stressed him even more.

Benedict felt the grabbing on his t-shirt and he could clearly feel that Martin was completely stressed, overwhelmed, overchallenged, nervous and insecure. He saw Martin licking his lips again, desperately looking for an answer, desperately trying not to leave this situation hastily, to process it, to get through it.  
Ben smiled at the two women.  
"The little Hobbit here always prefers to be at home, he has probably gotten too used to having his peace and quiet," Ben smirked with a joke, making the two women smirk as well. "And he didn't even have to practice walking with a cane; he's just a natural, he was ready to play Watson when he was born," Benedict said and the women giggled. "You're right about Richard, Martin was excellent, I saw the play once. I would have regretted it quite a lot if I hadn't had the time," he smiled and the women agreed with him, nodding eagerly. "Where are you from - exactly?"  
Martin took a deep breath, but he didn’t stop grabbing Ben’s shirt.  
"Yes, it was absolutely worthwhile to fly to London for the play. He looked damn hot with that beard and the uniform, didn't he Benedict?", the blonde grinned. "We're from Berlin."  
Martin licked his lips nervously again. Him, hot with beard and uniform? They thought he was hot? It made his head dizzy. He should know that quite a lot of women were attracted to him - at least Amanda had once talked about him being quite popular, that a lot of female and male fans were very attracted to him. She had talked about it several times. Not only her, but also other friends, even Jamie, and even his mother had told him that several times at the first breakfast in his new old home – she had told him when they had talked about the fact that it was weird to suddenly see himself old and grey; she had even raved about the fact that he was attracting a lot of girls, women, boys and men with his look.

Ben smiled.  
"Are you trying to squeeze a confession out of me? I rave often enough about Martin in interviews. He's pretty cute even with his beard and uniform," Benedict saved himself with a smile. "And Berlin is great, I've been there a few times already, ... and in October I'll be back in Berlin to promote Doctor Strange," he smiled, distracting them.  
The women grinned at his comment, but responded to the change of topic as Benedict hoped.  
"Oh, great! That’s great! Maybe we'll see you there again," the redhead beamed. "We don't want to disturb you any longer, but we just had to stop you. It's great to see the two of you together, especially since you don't have much time to do a lot in private. May we take a picture with you and could you give us an autograph?"

Ben smiled, looked briefly down at Martin.  
Martin looked up at him for a moment. He looked like he was living his worst nightmare - nevertheless Martin nodded. He didn't want to disappoint these women, who were very nice.  
The women kept beaming, pulling out their smartphones.

They took pictures - Martin with the blonde woman, one with the red-headed woman and one with both; Benedict also took a picture with the red-headed woman, one with the blonde and one together. And then they took one together with the blonde woman, then one with the red-headed woman and then they took a selfie, all of them together.  
Martin just tried to act, just imagined he was playing a successful and famous actor, who he actually was. But it helped him to calm down a bit and it helped him to smile in the photos instead of looking completely insecure and frightened.  
But he had needed to stop grabbing Ben’s shirt, he had needed to bring some distance between them – it had been very uncomfortable; Benedict had been his support, his security. So, when they had taken the selfies, he had immediately stepped to Benedict again, had immediately sought support and security again. Benedict had had his arm around his shoulder during the three photos they had taken with each other - it had been incredibly pleasant and reassuring.  
At the end they had given them an autograph - Martin hadn't thought too long about his signature, had simply written his name on the paper notebooks they had given him.  
He hoped that it would be similar to the signature he usually gave.

The farewell was the best about this whole situation, even so he felt bad for this thought since these women had been his fans and very nice.  
But unfortunately Ben had given them a hug - that fucking adorable gentleman. This was certainly the absolute highlight of the women’s holiday and he didn't want to end it with a disappointment. And so he gave the two women a short hug - and thanked them again for their ‘Get well’ wishes.

With Benedict, he walked away from the two women. His heart was racing like crazy, his head was spinning, inside him were a thousand questions, a dizzy and sick feeling. He would have loved to throw himself into Benedict's arms until the streets of London were empty and there was just Ben and him.

Ben put his hand on Martin's shoulder.  
"I think that's enough for today, don't you? Hmm,... let's go to my place," Ben said in a deep, warm voice. He rubbed across Martin's shoulder.  
"Yes... please let's go. It's too much right now," Martin said, insecure and intimidated.  
Benedict looked down at him, squeezed his shoulder - reassuring.  
"It's okay, we'll go to my place, then we'll be alone again and it's quieter, and you can relax," Ben murmured reassuringly. "And then I'll give you a proper hug, I have the feeling you could use a proper hug," Ben said with a smile.

Martin's eyes lit up, looking at Ben in anticipation.  
Ben smiled softly, winked.  
And Martin just smiled even more.  
They both smiled warmly at each other.

Meeting fans had been interesting.  
Meeting fans had been too much at the moment.

His fans were just too much for him at the moment.


	21. Sugarnut

_**\- Tuesday, September/13 - 2016, London, Hammersmith, Benedict’s house -** _

Benedict and Martin had jumped into a cab as soon as they had reached the busy streets of London. Their journey back to Hammersmith had been quiet; they hadn’t spoken with each other, they had just looked out of their windows.  
Benedict had just watched the big city. He had wanted to give Martin some peace, some silence, some time ‘alone’; he was sure meeting two fans had stressed him much more than the rest of the day in London, even if it just had been a few minutes. He knew Martin well enough to know that he had been acting the whole time, and Martin was very good at acting – he was sure the two women weren’t suspicious. He knew, without the accident and the memory loss, Martin was always saying very clearly if he had time and if he was in the mood for a picture and an autograph or not; he was absolutely honest and authentic - he didn't want to pretend anything. Today he had done it anyway, probably because he himself hadn't known how he normally reacted to fans. 

Now, Ben felt extremely sorry that he hadn't simply said that they didn't have time for small talk, a picture and an autograph.

Martin had put his hands in his lap, had made himself a little smaller than he already was. This small talk, these fans had absolutely stressed him. It had simply been too much and had completely overstrained and confused him. There were a thousand questions in his head and he knew he wouldn’t get all the answers too them in just a few minutes - he already felt the headache caused by thinking.  
If he was honest, he had already enough of London, actually he even had to admit to himself that he was afraid of meeting his fans again.

Martin flinched when he felt Benedict's hand on his thigh. He had been deep in his thoughts.  
Benedict's hand was still on his thigh and Martin turned his head slowly around, hoping that Ben didn't pull his hand back immediately - he felt the goose bumps.  
Ben smiled encouragingly.  
"We're here, Martin. We have to get out," Ben said.  
"Oh,..., " Martin mumbled.  
Ben smiled and slowly pulled his hand away; Martin moved his thigh a little bit to Ben’s hand, who bowed his head and patted Martin’s thigh again before getting out of the cab.  
Martin looked after him, ran his fingers through his hair, licked his lips and got out of the cab with a goodbye to the driver.

Martin followed Benedict to the house, walked up the few steps to the front door and then entered the house with Benedict who had already unlocked the door.  
He took a deep breath – it was wonderful to be back; this whole city had suddenly become too much, not only the two fans, but also every other person, every dog, every building, every tree, every sound.

Benedict put his keys away, slipped out of his shoes.  
He looked at Martin, who also slipped out of his shoes.  
"Living room?" Ben suggested with a calm voice.  
Martin nodded.

They walked into the living room; through the large window one was able to look into the small garden - the sun was shining into the living room.  
"Do you need a drink?" Ben asked.  
"Not really. What I need is a hug," Martin muttered honestly. “It was far too much.”  
Ben tilted his head, took a step towards Martin; he opened his arms.  
Martin also opened his arms, and was very happy to feel Ben's strong arms hugging him immediately. 

Benedict hugged him gently and tight, was holding him securely and safely in his arms while Martin cuddled his cheek against his collarbone and closed the eyes.  
Martin had put his hands on Benedict's back while Ben's hands were on the back of Martin’s head and on his lower back.  
This hug was more like a cuddle than a simple hug.

Martin took several deep breaths - in and out; slowly lowered his heartbeat a bit, relaxed the tense shoulders, the tense body. He enjoyed the silence, the warmth of Benedict's body, the security it radiated. He felt his heartbeat racing like mad, then just fast, then it slowed down, calmed down more and more by every passing minute.  
And Benedict just held him in silence, hugged him warmly, softly, gently, tenderly and safely.  
Martin's heartbeat had calmed down completely after a few minutes. He inhaled Benedict's scent and his perfume and immediately the heartbeat accelerated again. Not because of the fear of this big city and the fans, not because of the insecurity, not because of the stress, nervousness and uncertainty. The heartbeat accelerated abruptly and immensely because of Benedict - he was just cuddling in Benedict's arms, who had put his cheek on his hair, caressing his lower back and playing with the hair at the back of his head.  
"Benny," Martin muttered softly.

Ben smiled, didn’t stop playing with the hair, didn’t stop caressing the lower back.  
"Marty, ... actually I hate being called Benny, even you only ever did it when you wanted to annoy me or get my attention and didn't get it right away, ... then you played Ninja-Martin, and when that didn't help any longer, you called me Benny, because you knew how terrible I think it is," Ben mumbled with a smile, and hugged Martin even tighter, when he felt that Martin wanted to step back.  
Martin swallowed.  
"You don't like being called Benny? Why... why didn't you say something?... I call you Benny all the time," Martin said wit an alarmed voice.  
"You always said it so nicely and softly, and it didn't seem important. Frankly, I even like it now... at least when it comes from you," Benedict admitted with a smile.  
Martin breathed in.  
"Hmm,... what did I call you?", Martin asked.  
"Benedict or Ben, like the others."  
"Didn't I have my own nickname for you?" Martin asked, stayed in Ben's hug.  
"You did." Benedict smiled.  
"Tell me, what's my nickname for you?" Martin smiled.  
Benedict smiled softly.  
"Sugarnut," his deep and soft voice said.

Martin blinked a few times.  
Sugarnut.  
He blinked again, squinting his eyes.  
Sugarnut, sweetheart.  
He shook his head.  
Sugarnut; Sweetheart; Ben's phone call when he arrived in San Diego at the hotel for the ComicCon; Ben, who calmed him down and cheered him up on set because of a scene; Ben, who told him that he was going to be a father; Ben, who unashamedly pinched his ass at the Hobbit premiere; Ben, who visited him on the last day of shooting the Hobbit; Ben, who happily introduced himself with a big smile.  
Martin shook his head again, pinched his eyes together; he stepped back a bit, grabbed his head, which was buzzing and felt like it would explode any second.  
In front of his closed eyes he saw all these memories passing by, mixing with each other - they rushed through his head as if they were on the run.  
His heart was racing like crazy - and he cringed terribly when Benedict gently grabbed him.

"Martin?", the voice asked softly and anxiously.

Martin opened his eyes, looking at Benedict.  
Ben.  
Ben, who hadn't been to Sherlock's wrap party, who had flown to LA, for some meetings and to visit Sophie and Christopher. Benedict, whom the fans compared to an otter.  
Otter.  
Hedgehog, he was compared to a hedgehog.  
Martin looked at Ben - shocked.

"Sweetheart," Martin muttered the pet name Benedict used for him.  
Benedict opened his mouth.  
"Yes,... I call you sweetheart," he murmured.

Martin nodded, looking at him in shock.  
He was incredibly pale, his head ached, showing him more little memories with Ben, showing him other memories that he couldn't perceive as quickly as they flickered in front of his eyes. They rushed through his head within seconds, then everything was black again, before more memories showed up.  
He felt extremely dizzy and he felt extremely sick.  
"I feel sick," he murmured and quickly freed himself completely from Benedict's hug.  
He rushed to the toilet as if it wouldn’t be the first time – he knew exactly where to go. 

Ben's heart was racing, too.  
He turned his head around, looked at Martin. He blinked several times, ran his hand through his hair. Martin had remembered something, he had remembered that he had been called sweetheart.  
His heart skipped a beat.  
He had to shake his head once, still standing in the same place as if he was rooted to the ground.  
He had to go to Martin.

He had to look after him; he could hear his friend vomiting.  
He blinked again, rubbed his neck and then he went into the kitchen, filled a glass of water and came to the bathroom.  
The door was open - he walked in.  
Martin was bent over the toilet, not vomiting at the moment. The little body was kneeling on the floor, hands resting on the seat of the toilet.  
Benedict came closer. He put the glass down on a drawer, crouched down and rubbed Martin’s back gently and soothingly.  
Martin’s butt sank down on his heels - he ran his fingers through his grey hair.

Benedict’s right hand rubbed across Martin's shoulders, the left one pressed the toilet flush.  
Martin took a deep breath, felt Benedict help him up. He supported himself on the washbasin, took another breath, could feel Benedict's hand on his back again, gently caressing him.  
Martin opened his eyes, but didn’t look into the mirror as Benedict gave him a glass of water. He rinsed out his mouth several times, before putting down the glass, before turning on the water and splashing it into his pale face - and then he supported himself on the washbasin again, even though his right wrist hurt a little. He let his head hang down, still feeling Ben's tender caresses – goose bumps all over his body.

He rubbed his eyes, took his hands off the sink; he turned around, he needed to sit down.  
He still looked incredibly pale.  
He wanted to go into the living room, but a new wave of memories, all mixed up and only flickering in front of his eyes for a few seconds, made him change his mind.  
He just sat down on the floor, leaned against the bathroom cabinet.  
"Hey... Martin," he heard a muffled voice.  
He put his hands on his head, closed his eyes.

Benedict crouched down in front of Martin, was extremely worried – he put his hands on Martin's knees.  
Martin had tucked up his legs, supported his elbows on his knees, his head hanging in his hands as if it was too heavy.  
Ben’s thumb caressed Martin’s knees.  
"Martin," he said gently. "Let me help you up, okay? I'll help you up, and then we'll go into the living room, where you can lie down... " he murmured softly.

Martin didn't really react, but Benedict put his hands under Martin's arms and although Martin's body didn’t help at all and felt extremely heavy, he helped his friend up easily.  
He put his arm around Martin's back.  
"Come on," Benedict encouraged his friend.  
Martin hung in Benedict’s hug, toddled out of the bathroom.  
Benedict helped him into the living room, helped him to lie down on the sofa.

Martin sighed in relief. It felt good to lie down and his circulatory thanked him immediately.  
Ben smiled and caressed Martin’s head and hair.  
"I'll get you some water," he said. "I'll be right back."  
Martin nodded, keeping his eyes closed.  
He was just waiting for Ben, massaging his temples.

It didn't take long, at least it didn't feel for Martin, until he heard Benedict sit down in front of the sofa, until he heard him putting down a glass of water. And then he felt Benedict's hand again, this time on his upper arm.  
He opened his eyes, lay on his side, looked up at Ben. He reached out his hand and caressed Ben's cheek.  
"Sugarnut,... you... you pinched my ass in public and then you gave me the finger when I looked at you in surprise," Martin murmured.  
Ben bowed his head, his eyes sparkled, he smiled.  
"You remember that one bit from the second Hobbit premiere?"  
"I,… I can remember more… quite a bit came just back," Martin muttered. "Your call from San Diego when you got to the hotel, you were there for the ComicCon. How you introduced yourself to me, how we shot, how you cheered me up while shooting. And you didn't go to the wrap party because you went to L.A. for a few appointments and to see Christopher. And... there's so much more, memories from sets and interviews, how you raved about me. And there was something with Simon, Amanda, my family - ... there were so many memories, fast and mixed up," he muttered.  
He dropped his hand.

Benedict beamed at him.  
"It's worth all the headaches, nausea and dizziness."  
"Absolutely,... but I could have done without vomiting," Martin smiled.  
"Water?", Ben smiled.  
"Would be great."  
Ben turned around, took the glass of water and handed it to Martin, who sat up a bit more.  
"Thank you," Martin smiled.  
He drank the water while Ben got up and sat down next to him – and when he had emptied the glass of water, Benedict put in onto the coffee table again.

Martin took a breath, ran his fingers through his hair.  
"Can you remember the accident?" Ben asked - he tilted his head, looking at Martin.  
Martin was still pale, but he was slowly getting his colour back - but it certainly wouldn't be the last time he felt this bad.  
"No." he shook his head. "Sugarnut,... Sugarnut was the damn word I needed," Martin murmured smiling. "That pet name, just that pet name I have for you."  
Ben smiled softly.  
"It's good we finally talked about that pet name," Ben beamed, rubbing Martin's thigh.

He bowed his head.  
Martin didn't seem to remember that he had confessed his love to him - at least he didn't seem to remember it yet, otherwise he would surely have said something already. That was a pretty big memory, an important one that had welded them together as friends. 

Martin massaged his temples again, looked at Ben.  
He was so incredibly relieved that the last 16 years started to come back. Even if that meant headaches, probably dizziness and nausea again, and certainly vomiting again.  
It was definitely worth it.

"Do you want to stay here, Martin,... tonight?" Ben asked. “I’d feel much better, knowing I’m here to help you during that first night.”  
"I’d feel much better, too – knowing someone is with me," Martin mumbles.  
"You're welcome to stay." Ben smiled.  
"Thank you, Benny," he winked softly.  
Ben smiled.  
"Would you like to have a little massage?" Ben asked, pointing to Martin's head.  
Martin tilted his head. A loving smile spread across his face. He nodded.  
Ben moved a little closer.

They both smiled at each other.  
Their eyes were sparkling, showing relief and less stress.  
Less emotional baggage just because of one word.

Before Martin closed his eyes to enjoy Ben's massage, one could hear the loving and dark voice of Ben and the warm and nasal voice of Martin.

"Sweetheart."  
"Sugarnut.”


	22. Benedict, Ben, Benny

_**\- Wednesday, September/14 - 2016, London, Hammersmith, Ben’s house, guest room -** _

He was tossing and turning in bed, couldn't really fall asleep.  
He had been asleep, awake, asleep and awake again.  
He had been completely exhausted after the afternoon and evening with Benedict, in fact he had been completely exhausted from the whole day - the day had really hit him hard. 

The breakfast had been great.  
Watching the film with Ben had been a little frustrating because he had hoped for some memories. But those memories hadn’t showed up back then.  
The stroll had been fun, he had needed it, but the big city had been too much and meeting his fans had been a complete disaster for him.  
And then Sugarnut - that word that had suddenly triggered all his memories.  
It had been incredibly exhausting.  
Again and again, memories had been rushing through his head.

Benedict's head massage had been amazing. It had not only been a great feeling to be massaged by Benedict and to feel those great hands in his hair - Benedict had also made his headache go away.  
And then there had been the great conversation with Benedict in the evening.  
Ben had noticed that Martin had felt quite uncomfortable with the fans in the afternoon. And he had talked with him a while about it, had taken away his worries. He had been quite understanding, had listened to Martin patiently and then, his words, had taken away the fear of a new encounter and all the other worries Martin had had about it.  
It had been great to get it off his chest, to hear these understanding and comforting, encouraging words.

Martin turned on his side, looked into the darkness.  
He closed his eyes and felt the next flashback rushing through his head.

\----------Flashback----------

A few minutes ago he had heard the last ‘Cut!’ for this season of Sherlock - Sherlock season 4. It was a great feeling. It was great to have finished another project this year. And still it would be hard to leave all those people behind for some time. Sherlock was just family, a reason why he always loved to come back for Sherlock and would come back in the future - as long as Ben would come back, too.  
They had been on location today.  
The weather was great, the sun was shining and they were standing on a beautiful green meadow.  
Benedict walked towards him, with his dark Sherlock curls, his Belstaff coat and his blue scarf.  
He smiled back, beamed at Ben, and he also walked towards him.  
Benedict opened his arms.  
They hugged each other, cuddled each other.  
Benedict patted the back of his head while he squeezed Ben's shoulder.  
"All good?" Ben asked smiling.  
They slowly stepped back.  
"All good," he smiled up to Ben.  
And together they walked across the green grass

\----------End of Flashback----------

Martin blinked, opened his eyes, looked into the darkness.  
His heart was beating a little louder and faster. He still could hardly believe that he had simply forgotten all of this for a couple of weeks.  
The last day of shooting had been great. But he remembered how disappointed he had been that Benedict hadn't been at the Wrap Party. He had had a lot of fun, he had celebrated and danced and had drunken quite a lot of alcohol - but his Sherlock had simply been missing. His Sherlock, who was simply an incredibly great and funny partner to celebrate with - he was able to say that with certainty now, because he had remembered some after show parties - after show parties of Premieres and Awards. 

Even if the memories slowly came back, the dark rooms in his head were filled up with colour again, but it still felt weird that he was 'suddenly' that famous and well-known.  
He closed his eyes again, let the next flashback rushed through his head.

\----------Flashback----------

He stood on a kind of balcony with his colleagues, looking down at the crowd of fans, all looking forward to the Premiere of The Hobbit - The Desolation of Smaug. They were cheering like crazy, he could hear his name over and over again, and the names of his colleagues. Pictures were taken, it flashed again and again - even videos were shot. And even his colleagues took pictures of the cheering crowd, or filmed the whole spectacle.  
He felt good. He looked forward to the premiere, was proud of what they had achieved together with The Hobbit. It was a great feeling to present it to the waiting fans.  
Benedict stood next to him, had just been called and he had shouted to the waiting fans that it was his father. He had to smile, not only because Timothy had called, but also because Benedict had actually picked up the call.  
He looked up at Ben in confusion, who reached the phone to him and told him that his father wanted to talk to him.  
He took the phone, pressed it to his ear and covered his other ear - otherwise he probably wouldn't understand a word. It was a great feeling to talk to a father now - his own father was dead since he was 10 years old, had never been able to see how he had grown as an actor, had never been able to go to a premiere - so it was a great feeling to talk to Benedict's father.  
"Timothy," he said joyfully and loudly.  
"Martin! Hello. How are you?", Tim wanted to know.  
"I’m absolutely fine." he smiled and was also used for a photo Peter took. "It's a shame you can't be here."  
"So, I thought I'd just call. Wanda told me not to, but I didn't listen. But to be honest, I didn't expect Benedict to answer the phone either. It was really just a test," Timothy laughed.  
He laughed.  
"Well, the test was successful, Tim."  
"Absolutely! Wanda urges me to finally hang up. I wanted to tell you that I'm very proud of you."  
"Thank you, Tim,... thank you! Please say hello to Wanda," he said, he was touched.  
"You deserve it! I'll greet her. Take care, Martin."  
"Bye Tim," he said and then hung up.  
He smiled at Ben, handed him back the phone.  
They both smiled at each other.  
"Thank you, Ben," he beamed.  
Ben winked knowingly.

\----------End of Flashback----------

Martin took a deep breath.  
He swallowed.  
This flashback not only reminded him of how incredibly lovely Ben and his parents were; it also reminded him of his own father. He missed him, he missed him very much. And yet it was a beautiful memory, both of his father and of Benedict and Tim that night.  
It made his heart skip a beat. 

He ran his fingers through his hair, rubbed his eyes.  
Martin turned on his back, sighed.  
Actually, he wanted to go back to sleep. But as soon as he closed his eyes, the flashbacks came back. Which was very good on the one hand, because it brought back memories, but those memories didn't let him sleep, and he was just terribly tired.  
He was really exhausted, but the knowledge that every time he closed his eyes, a memory of Ben came back, made him not want to stop.  
Okay, not every memory had been a memory involving Ben, but 90% of the memories this afternoon, this evening and this night had included Ben.  
The memories of Ben were incredibly beautiful.  
Memories of Benedict, of Ben, of Benny.  
And these memories made him feel even more how much he had fallen in love with him over the past couple of weeks.  
It almost felt like these memories had doubled his infatuation.

Martin switched on the bedside lamp.  
He sat up, got up, took his smartphone and left the guest room.  
He walked across the hallway and into the kitchen where he turned on the light.  
Martin put his smartphone on the kitchen counter and got himself a glass of water before he picked up his phone again.

_**Are you awake?** _

He put his smartphone back on the counter, drank some of the water, and leaned his butt against the kitchen counter.  
He ran his hand through his hair, across his face, rubbed his eyes, then rubbed across his neck. He yawned, scratched his bare chest.  
His smartphone was showing a message. 

_I am awake now. ;-). Where can I find you?_

Martin smiled gently.

_**Kitchen. :-)** _

Martin waited for the answer in case another one would come. And when the text arrived, he could already hear the footsteps at the same time.

_Are you raiding my refrigerator, Mr. Freeman?_

Martin raised his head, grinned at Benedict, who walked into the kitchen.  
"For once, I don’t eat."  
Benedict grinned. He came to Martin, put his smartphone on the counter.

Just like Martin, Benedict was wearing shorts. A tight, dark boxer shorts, unlike Martin, who wore wide chequered boxer shorts.  
They had seen each other almost naked due to their films; Benedict had seen him completely naked in one film; and he himself had seen Benedict naked on the Sherlock set in season two - he'd dreamed about it before he woke up. He had seen Ben naked when Ben had thrown himself into the fashionable white sheet for Buckingham Palace.  
It wasn't really new to see him like this, but it was quite different now. He really had to pull himself together so he wouldn’t examine that almost naked and rather hot body. He had become more muscular due to all the training for Doctor Strange, even though he had lost some of it for Sherlock. And damn it, that only made Benedict even hotter.

Benedict also had trouble not to examine Martin with heart-shaped eyes.  
He liked Martin's body very much; a little bit of chest hair, the soft but almostly flat belly, the rather muscular arms. This man had an incredible charisma and that sleepy look, the tousled grey hair made him look even hotter and adorable at the same time.  
Ben smiled.

"We could raid the fridge together. Or the freezer. Fancy some vanilla ice cream?", he asked smiling, squeezing Martin's bare shoulder and then he was already on his way to the freezer.  
And that was very good for Martin, because the goose bumps spread all over his body; he shivered pleasantly after that little touch, rubbed over his arm and shivered pleasantly again.  
"Ice cream sounds good."  
"You want chocolate and caramel sauce with it?" Ben asked smiling, the ice cream in his hand.  
"Would be perfect," Martin smiled and got the spoons.

Benedict got the chocolate and caramel sauce from the fridge and then sat down with Martin at the kitchen table. He put down the ice cream and the chocolate and caramel sauce - he sat at the head of the table while Martin sat at the side, stretching out his legs, his feet nudged at Benedict’s legs.  
They both pulled their legs back with a short delay.

"Sorry." they both said.  
"It's okay," was the next synchronous sentence -it made them laugh.

Still laughing, they stretched their legs out again, they touched each other slightly - Benedict's calf lay on Martin's shin bone, but neither of them pulled their legs back this time.

Martin opened the ice cream box and Benedict opened the bottles of chocolate and caramel sauce; he poured some of it over the ice cream.  
They each took a spoon, and began to eat the ice cream.  
"Have you had any sleep yet?" Ben asked.  
"Yes, I fell asleep quite fast and dreamt of your naked ass," Martin grinned.  
"You what?", Benedict almost choked on the ice cream.  
"I dreamt about your naked ass, the day we did that Buckingham Palace scene, I was in the trailer with you when you got dressed for it," he said.  
Ben grinned, amazingly his cheeks and ears didn’t turn red - although Martin hadn’t only seen his naked ass that day; in bright daylight! And that was the difference to Martin's naked body, which he had seen in a film about Rembrandt – in this film he had only seen Martin’s naked body in rather diffuse light and the camera had been quite far away.  
"Was it a good dream?"  
"Your ass is very handsome," Martin grinned and preferred to limit this statement to the rear view, even though the same applied to the naked front view and was considerably understated for Benedict's naked body.  
They both smiled at each other.

Martin licked the ice cream of the spoon.  
"And then I couldn't fall asleep again. I kept having flashbacks. Did I wake you up, Benedict?", Martin asked and licked the ice from the spoon again.  
Ben tilted his head, pulled the spoon out of his mouth.  
"Yes,... but I hadn’t switched into mute mode in case you get the idea to text me instead of just knocking or coming in and waking me up.”  
"This is your bedroom, I didn't want to disturb you, Ben," Martin smiled.  
"You could have come in, Martin. But you woke me up anyway,” Ben winked. “Do you think you'll be able to go back to sleep after the ice cream? You look pretty exhausted and tired and I think a little sleep would do you good," Benedict said softly.  
Martin put the spoon back into his mouth, licked the ice cream off it before he answered.  
"I'd like to sleep, but as soon as I close my eyes the flashbacks start. Which is good, it brings back memories, but it also gives me a headache because I'm just overtired and it's incredibly exhausting," he said. He looked at his spoon, then looked at Ben again. "Could you read me something after the ice cream, to help me fall asleep, Benny?" he asked.  
Ben smiled gently.  
"You've gotten quite used to my bedtime stories, Sweetheart," Ben winked with a big and warm smile that clearly said ‘Yes’ to the bedtime story question.  
"Your voice is just incredibly calming, Sugarnut," Martin winked with a bright smile that said ‘Thank you’.


	23. A Little Stroll

_**\- Wednesday, September/14 - 2016, mid-morning, London/Potters Bar -** _

The door to the downstairs bathroom was opened again.  
Martin entered the hallway, freshly showered and dressed - he almost collided with Benedict, who had just been in the upstairs bathroom, showering and dressing.

Martin flinched, his eyes sparkled frightened.  
Ben smiled in surprise.

"Well, that was close," Ben smiled, had been able to just stop right in front of Martin.  
"Maybe it went wrong,... maybe I wanted to run into you," Martin grinned cheekily and charmingly.  
Benedict smirked.  
"Sometimes, I'm really afraid of running into you just because you're such a small puppy."  
Martin pretended to laugh, pretended it very badly - on purpose.  
"Hahaha, very funny you fucking tall bastard."  
Ben laughed gently and squeezed Martin's shoulder.  
"I see, it's very hard for you to keep it together," Ben grinned.  
Martin grinned authentically.  
"You've forgotten that I now CAN remember that you’re constantly making jokes about my size."  
"Well,... shit," Ben winked with a grin. 

Martin grinned and winked.  
"I'm sparing you for now," he winked again. "I didn't ask you during breakfast, but how long have you been reading to me last night?"  
Ben grinned, made a grateful face and then answered Martin's question with a smile.  
"I haven't even finished the first chapter. I think you fell asleep after the first page, at least I had looked up and you had looked pretty relaxed. And when I heard your little snores after four pages, I stopped reading,... and left," Ben smiled.  
"Okay,... so, at least I didn't keep you awake for too long," Martin said calmly.  
"If you had needed me all night, I would have stayed up all night. So, you don't have to feel guilty. You're not feeling well right now and fortunately I have some free time; and I'm really happy to be able to help you and to spend more time with you right now," Ben reassured him.  
Martin rubbed his neck.  
"Thanks anyway, Ben. Thanks for the whole day yesterday,... and also for the ice cream date tonight. It was great. And your bedtime story, too," Martin smiled.  
"You don't have to keep thanking me, Martin," Ben smiled and squeezed Martin's shoulder. "And I liked our ice cream date a lot, too – as much as I enjoy reading to you. You're falling asleep as quickly as Christopher," Ben smiled at the end.  
Martin smiled.  
"There's another confirmation that you have a great voice for bedtime stories," Martin winked.  
Ben smiled flattered.

Martin ran his hand through his hair.  
"Are you ready?" He asked and looked up at Ben.  
"I'm ready. Do you have everything?" Ben asked.  
Martin nodded.  
"Yes, I only had my smartphone and my wallet. I’m ready to go," he smiled.  
Ben squeezed Martin's shoulder again before he walked to theit shoes.

They slipped into their sneakers, and when Martin took his cane, Benedict opened the door for him.  
They walked to Benedict's car and got in.

Martin’s cane was lying in the back of the car.  
He leaned back comfortably, massaging his temples.  
Benedict started the engine when he saw in the corner of his eye that Martin was massaging his temples.  
"Headaches again?" Benedict asked.  
"Hmhh," Martin murmured. "I'm glad you're driving me home and we can go for a walk," he said. "I think the fresh air will do me good."  
Benedict nodded.  
"I think so, too. And then you can lie down on the couch and rest."  
Martin turned his head to him, nodded. 

Resting was a good keyword, certainly also for Ben. Neither of them had slept very much during the night. Martin had been awake with his flashbacks and then he had woken up Benedict with his text messages. In the end, they had both been awake and had eaten vanilla ice cream with chocolate and caramel sauce in the kitchen - they had talked; they had talked about Martin's flashbacks and had almost eaten all of the ice cream. And then Benedict had read a bedtime story to him.  
Two things had been especially lovely.  
Firstly, feeling Benedict's naked skin on his own naked skin while eating ice cream plus Benedict had just worn boxer briefs.  
And secondly, he had been able to enjoy Benedict's deep voice. The voice was immensely calming that even this exciting book hadn’t been able to keep him awake.  
He was looking forward to the stroll with Ben in Potter's Bar - and then he would certainly need the rest, because the headaches would surely get worse as soon as the flashbacks came back; and he had quite a lot of them at the moment. All the time - even if it was only for a few seconds. 

It was really good to have Benedict at his side at the moment. His family and his other friends were also fantastic and lovely people and were doing him good in some way, and one of them was always there when he needed someone but Benedict was just special, not only because he fell in love with this man - the way he took care of him all the time was unique and he was always touched by the way Benedict took care of him. It was great to have him as a friend and it had been nice to get to know him again in the last couple of weeks - completely different in context to the first time.  
And again the chemistry was just unexplainable and incredibly magical and intense.

During the drive to Potters Bar they had a little chat, and apart from that, Benedict had given his colleague and friend a little rest.  
The drive to Potters Bar had been pleasant and yet Martin was looking forward to the fresh summer air.

Although it was already mid-September, the sky over England was just absolutely beautiful and summer-ish. It was still really warm and so they went for a walk as soon as they reached Martin's place.

Martin put his hand on Benedict's lower back. He had to take advantage of the physical contact as long as Benedict was around.  
"So what's on your agenda today?" Martin asked.  
Ben turned his head to Martin, who slowly pulled his hand back and walked beside him with his cane.  
"Nothing. I'll just lie down on the couch or in the garden. I suppose you won't be doing much after our stroll, will you?"  
Martin nodded in agreement.  
"I'm sure the rest of my day will look like yours. As much as I enjoyed yesterday and the ice cream date tonight,... I'm really exhausted."

Ben nodded.

"Yes, it's the same with me," he said softly. He put his arm around Martin's shoulder, hugged him for a moment while walking along the fields. "I am incredibly relieved that these flashbacks are starting now and that you can remember me again," he confessed. "The first visit had been incredibly difficult and hard for me. The worst thing was the look on your face when you saw me – this confusing, the unknown, these question marks. We have experienced so many great and lovely things together and with each other, so many things that were really beautiful, that were funny, that were touching... and you just couldn't recall it, you just didn't know who I am," Ben said.  
Martin looked at him and led him down the path along the fields and to the forest.  
"That was the worst thing for me, too. I knew that nothing serious would be left behind from my injuries and that the fractures would heal, but not being able to remember was just hell. These flashbacks are not really fun either,... but at least they allow me to remember all the great things with you and the others,... and surely also the bad and unpleasant events," Martin smiled softly. He bowed his head. "And I think it was probably just as hard for you as it was for me, ... it's not great to be forgotten."  
Ben tilted his head.  
"I guess we've all struggled with this just as much as you have. So, it's great you are able to remember now."  
Martin nodded and smiled in relief.

They strolled along the gravel road next to the fields. The sun shone on their backs, warming them pleasantly.  
Their naked forearms and their hands touched again and again - not just by accident, one could really call it intentional - but neither of them moved even an inch to the side. Neither Benedict nor Martin said anything about it - they both just enjoyed it and hoped the other one wouldn't back off at some point.  
Benedict knew he was doing himself no good. He knew Martin's feelings towards their relationship; he knew Martin just loved him dearly as a friend, but that there was nothing more to be said. So, with all these touches, hugs and cuddles, he was actually hurting himself. He knew it wasn't good, he knew they had agreed to flirt and touch less but it was just hard for him not to get closer to Martin or not to respond to his flirting. When Martin could remember this confession again, it would probably hurt a lot to let the flirting and these touches go again, but he wanted to enjoy this closeness as long as possible - and Martin seemed to need it right now.

They had arrived in the forest, strolled along the path, enjoyed the fresh air that ruffled through their hair.  
"Headache any better?" Benedict asked.  
Martin nodded and smiled.  
"Yes, it’s getting better. But maybe we can sit down over there, walking is getting a bit tiring right now," Martin said and pointed to a bench at a fork in the path.  
He let his arm and hand sink again, caressing Benedict's warm hand.  
His heart was racing and the desire to grab Ben’s hand was huge.  
Benedict raised his hand, ran it through his hair - he needed to pull his hand away for a moment, he had actually almost grabbed Martin’s hand to hold hands with him.  
He scratched his cheek, nodded.  
"Yes, we can do that," he smiled down to Martin.  
"Great," Martin replied smiling.

Martin and Benedict walked to the wooden bench at the fork in the path.  
Martin sat down with Benedict and leaned his walking stick against the bench.  
He leaned back, briefly squeezed Benedict's thigh as he had always done it before the accident.  
They turned their heads towards each other, were smiling at each other.


	24. A Bicycle and a Car

_**\- Wednesday, September/14 -2016, lunchtime, Potters Bar, forest -** _

Through the treetops the sun was shining down on the forest ground - making the green leaves and all the other colours shine even brighter.  
And even Benedict and Martin could enjoy the sun a little bit - it didn't shine in their faces, but there were a few brighter spots on their bodies, caused by the sun.  
A light breeze was blowing through the leaves of the trees and now and then the breeze also ruffled through Martin’s and Benedict's hair.  
It was a pleasant September day.

Martin's pain had already subsided a little, just sitting here for a short while had helped immensely. He still wanted to enjoy the good weather, the fresh air and Benedict's presence a little bit before they would make their way back. 

Martin looked around, looked at the turnoff and also at the forest ground, to the fork in the path, to the path itself, which was used by the commercial vehicles.  
He blinked, closed his eyes briefly.  
And with that the next flashback rushed through his head – with the answer to the question why this particular spot in the forest looked so familiar to him and caused his heart to race.

\----------Flashback----------

It was Saturday and he had just enjoyed a late lunch on his terrace. Today, he had returned from Cardiff - he had been pretty much enjoying the wrap party yesterday, where he had been drunk at some point.  
He had enjoyed the party, even though Benedict didn't join the party. He had missed his Sherlock a lot, but he had been happy that Ben was able to see his son along a few appointments in LA.  
The drunken headache was gone, but even so it was gone he still felt sick, he didn't really feel like sitting at home and doing nothing.  
This wouldn’t make him feel any better, he would waste the whole Saturday and especially the very good weather - because outside the sun was shining on the bright blue sky.

Deciding what to do with the good weather wasn’t difficult. He hadn't ridden his bike for a long time and now he was really keen to do so.  
He didn't lose any time – he was dressed properly with a t-shirt and short trousers, and so he just walked into the hallway, slipped into his running shoes, grabbed his keys and left the house.  
His feet led him to the garage - he opened the gate, pushed his bike out of the garage, pumped up the tires and put the key in his pocket. After closing the garage gate he dropped his shoulders.

The helmet - he forgot the helmet. 

He looked at the garage, scratched his head.  
The helmet was in the house, hanging at the wardrobe in the hallway.  
He sighed; he really didn't feel like walking back to the house just for the helmet.  
He didn't want to ride his bike on the street anyway - he wanted to go to the fields and into the forest, and in this heat he wouldn't ride the bike like a madman anyway, and the helmet would only be a nuisance in this heat.  
What could possibly go wrong when one rode his bike through the forest without a hurry?  
He got on his bike and rode down his driveway.

Martin turned to the left, rode along the street – slowly, not being in a hurry, just calmly.  
He took one of the paths that led up to the fields.  
The warm air was weakened by the wind, even though he was riding his bike rather comfortably – but the light breeze hitting his face was really nice; the breeze that ruffled through his hair was very pleasant.  
He was riding his bike comfortably along the flowering fields.

He would’ve a few days off – fantastic.  
In a few days he would go to Australia, but before he would fly to the outback, he would enjoy his free days with preparations, with relaxing, with family and friends.

He breathed in and out as he rode his bike into the forest - it was much cooler here, it felt amazing on his heated skin.  
He felt the tiredness and sickness leaving his body, as well as the remaining headache.  
The idea had been excellent, the fresh air had stimulated his circulation – that was exactly what he had needed.  
Without thinking about anything, he enjoyed the forest; he knew his way around here quite well; whenever his head was too full, or he just needed some rest from thinking, he came here to the fields and the forest – riding his bike, jogging, strolling. It was always a great distraction, a great place to stop thinking and a great place to recharge. Even without consciously perceiving where exactly he was and where he had been, he knew exactly where he was and which paths would lead him to different spots of the forest, which paths would bring him home again.

He reached one of the forks of the path - he had already spent some time on his bike, but decided not to ride home yet; he would take advantage of the good weather.  
All he had to do was crossing the commercial vehicle path.

He rode the bike off the forest road and onto the commercial vehicle path.

And in the corner of his eye he saw a car, the silver car, that sped towards him on the commercial vehicle path - probably taking a shortcut through the forest.  
Actually, he hadn't been going fast himself, and yet he wasn't able to react at all - he hadn't even been able to apply the brakes a little bit.  
The driver of the car didn't seem to react at all, neither with the brake, nor by taking evasive action – he probably hadn't even seen him.

The bike and the car collided, or rather, the bike collided with the car, crashed against the right side of the bonnet.  
He could feel the impact very clearly and he could feel his body becoming independent.  
He got off the bike, flew in a high arc over the bonnet of the car, which had now made an emergency stop.  
He didn't hit the bonnet with his body - he simply climbed over it.  
He tried to react instinctively, he tried to stretch out his arms to cushion the fall at least a little bit.

He hit the forest ground hard with his left hip. He was gasping; he had obviously hit a rise in the ground. His attempt to cushion the fall had not worked either. He had somehow buried his left arm under his left side as his right arm had tried to cushion the fall in full extension. The right hand had slipped unhealthily over the rough forest ground, and there had been two really loud cracks. The fall had not been cushioned, at least not really. The speed at which he had climbed over the car had been too high – he couldn’t hold his head in position any longer; the head hit another rise in the ground.

It all happened within a few seconds.  
And now he lay limply on the hard forest floor.

Everything was blurred, everything sounded dull.  
It hurt everywhere, he had the feeling that he couldn’t open his eyes and that he couldn’t move.  
The sound of the engine was just a muffled and dull sound in his ears, but told him that the car was driving away.

He felt his heart beating fast; he felt his heart doing somersaults – panic was rising in him.  
The car was gone. The only help, deep in the forest, was gone.  
His heart was beating too fast, his breathing was too fast, his body hurt, his head reacted - sent him into unconsciousness.

Suddenly he perceived sounds again, dull and muffled; he managed to open his eyes a little bit, but his vision was blurred - panic flooded him again and before the body sent him back into unconsciousness he could still hear a very, very muffled female voice.

Everything was black again.

\----------End of Flashback----------

Martin was trembling; he was sweating, grabbing his right hand, his collarbone, his left hip, the large laceration on his head that had already healed. He rubbed over his face where all the abrasions had been. He rubbed across the palm of his right hand, which had been completely torn open. He touched his head again, his eyes fluttering wildly, his breathing was accelerated.

\----------Flashback----------

His eyes opened slowly.  
He closed his eyes again, opened them again, closed and opened them again and again, until the eyes remained open.  
Where was he?  
Panic flooded through him again.  
Light.  
Devices.  
Tubes.  
Cables.  
Beeping and whirring.  
Intolerable pain.  
Louder beeping.  
He moved, felt the bed underneath him and he saw someone coming towards him – it was blurry in front of his eyes.  
He felt a hand on his shoulder.  
Panic.  
Extreme panic.

\----------End of Flashback----------

Martin flinched when he felt the hand not only in his daydream but also in real life.  
And then he heard the male voice.  
"Martin," said the voice, alarmed and worried.

And he felt an arm around him as he was pressed against a body.  
Then a second arm followed and he was pressed even more against the warm body, was gently held in a warm hug - cradled back and forth; calmly.  
The body was warm, felt good.  
The voice was calm, loving, actually he just heard a ‘Shhh’.  
This smell was familiar; it was welcome, it was soothing and it was arousing.  
He wrapped his arms around this body, snuggled up against it.

Ben.


	25. Stubborness and Fighter

_**\- Saturday, August/6 – 2016, afternoon, Potters Bar, forest -** _

_Five weeks earlier/the day of the accident_

"Stanley!" the woman screamed in vain across the clearing in the forest near Potter's Bar.  
Her Australian Shephard didn’t listen - once again.  
Actually it was her son's dog, at least he had wanted a dog. But who was the one running through the forest on that hot summer day to walk the dog, instead of lying comfortably in the garden?  
She did. Not her son. It was her!  
And whose fault was it?  
Not hers!  
Her son had rather wanted to go swimming with his friends, and of course he hadn’t been able to wait an hour longer to go for a walk with Stanley before he joined his friends. He had needed to go with them right away. And her husband, that little too handsome prick, had simply stabbed her in the back, had been lying comfortably in the garden with his torn ligament – he had injured himself during the Friday evening football match with his friends.  
He hadn't had to take Stanley out for a walk, so it had been easy for him to say that their son can just go with his friends.  
It was her, who needed to walk the dog.  
The woman in the house had to save the day again.  
Stubborn men.

The third man in the house, the third pigheaded and too handsome man, was the one running across the clearing.  
Stanley.  
An incredibly lovable dog and a great fourth member of the family. But when it came to Stanley, she didn't have enough self-assertion. The great assertiveness while she was working in Scotland Yard was massively lacking when it came to Stanley - and so he was allowed to lie with her on the sofa; he was allowed to sleep in the bed with her; if he wanted to go into the garden every two minutes, she always opened the door for him; and she also walked the paths he wanted to walk.

She wanted to go home now; they had already walked for more than an hour, and just a few seconds ago Stanley had been playing on the clearing – running, jumping, racing, chasing.  
Apparently, Stanley didn't want to use the short way; he trotted over the clearing, was going for the long way home, which would lead them along the commercial vehicle path.  
"Stanley! Come here," she shouted again.  
...but Stanley didn't even turn his head around.

She crossed her arms.  
She would wait.  
She knew that Stanley would come back as soon as he wouldn’t see her for a few moments.

Stanley disappeared from her sight, disappeared for a while, and she was about to go after him when Stanley shot back into the clearing and spurted towards her.

"There you are," she said happily and proud of herself.

Stanley didn't stop; he jumped around her, barked, kept running away from the dog lead she was about to put on, so he would stay with her. He barked loudly, jumped around her, spurted again and again in the direction he had come from.

"Stanley! Come here now! We're not taking the long way," she said as he jumped around her. "Your owner is going to have a very shitty evening when he gets back from swimming with his friends."

Stanley didn't care much about that, was behind her again, nudging her thigh with his head as if he wanted to push her.

"Do you want to show me something?" It occurred to her.

...and Stanley was barking as if he agreed and was glad that she finally got it.  
He ran ahead and she ran after him, hoping that this sly dog wouldn’t just tease her.

But as she ran across the clearing, through the forest and then onto the commercial vehicle road, she could see in close proximity not only Stanley but also a human body lying in the middle of the road.  
Stanley was lying next to the body, guarding this person.  
There was a bicycle near the man.

Charlotte ran as fast as she could, happy for the first time that this far too cute dog was incredibly stubborn. For the first time today she was glad that her son had gone swimming, for the first time glad that her husband had stabbed her in the back - because the two of them had Stanley under control - Stanley wouldn’t have found that person with her son or her husband.

She stopped in front of the body, bent over it - Stanley slipped to the side, howled as if he sensed very clearly that something was very wrong here.  
Thank goodness, she was very calm in these situations; thank goodness, she knew exactly what to do.  
She checked on him – was he breathing, was he unconscious?  
He was breathing, and after two gentle pats on the cheek, he even opened his eyes for a brief moment.  
"Hello, can you hear me?" she asked - but the man did not answer her, did not even look like he saw her; it seemed more like he was looking through her.  
His eyes fluttered shut, and even the pats on his cheek weren’t having any effect.

He lay there, twisted - his left arm had been pushed under his body, otherwise he lay on his right side, his head in the dirt; lots of blood, seemingly from a head wound.  
She pulled her smartphone out of her trouser pocket, dialled 999, rattled down what she had to say as someone answered the call.  
"Male injured person, bicycle accident." She looked around for a moment. "Here are tire tracks from a car. He's breathing, unresponsive, badly bleeding wound to the head. Potter's Bar, in the forest." she said quickly, then was asked something else. "Specifically? Um,... on the commercial vehicle road, but there are more than this one, there's a clearing next to it, it's the only one that's right next to one of these roads," she added.  
The man had said it would be enough for the rescue to find it on the map.

She had thrown her phone into the dirt next to her.  
She looked down at the man again.  
The head wound looked quite bad – she didn’t have a good feeling about it; she didn’t have a good feeling about the situation this man was in. A bike, no helmet, the tire marks. Maybe he had collided with a car - she knew there were some idiots who took these paths as a shortcut and sped up here as if they were on the highway.  
She patted his cheeks again, spoke to him, but there was no reaction.  
She was afraid to move him, preferred to stabilize his head with her hands only and checked again and again if he was still breathing as she talked to him in a calm voice – telling him over and over again that everything was fine, that he wasn’t alone, that rescue was on the way.  
And Stanley just lay next to him, giving a short howl every now and then.

It had only been a few minutes she had to wait for the ambulance but it had seemed much longer.

The ambulance stopped in a short distance, two men jumped out, already carrying some equipment.  
They crouched down next to her - took over the care of the injured person.  
And shortly afterwards two police cars stopped in short distance, too.

One of the policemen led her away from the scene of the accident and the working paramedics - Stanley was still lying nearby, not moving.  
"Do you know this man, Ma’am?"  
"No. My dog found him. I didn't search him, and I haven’t wanted to turn him around. All I saw was the phone that was in his pocket and a key."  
"That means you didn't see the accident either?"  
"I didn't see it. I didn’t hear anything either. I was at the clearing with my dog. I don’t know how long he had been lying here before we found him. I came from the other side. But there are tire marks from a car, and the bike looks pretty banged up, too."  
The policeman nodded, wrote down a few things.  
"Can you identify yourself?"  
"I only brought my smartphone. I'm Charlotte Ferguson, I live in Potters Bar."  
"Oh, my brother-in-law works with a Charlotte Ferguson. Are you working for Scotland Yard?"  
Charlotte nodded, smiled.  
"I guess that makes me your brother-in-law's colleague."  
The man smiled at her with a friendly nod.  
"You can stop by with your ID later today. Would you stay with us a little longer, maybe you can help us a little bit anyway."  
Charlotte just nodded.

One of the other policemen walked to them.  
"There are tire marks that stop at the scene of the accident. The others are examining the area. The bike seems to lie where it collided with the car, maybe we can at least find out the size of the car and maybe we can find out which model it was by checking the tire marks," he said. "The track stops here – he must have backing up; over there... ", he pointed in the direction the car came from. "...you can see that the car turned around. He must have driven away quickly, the tires spun, there's a really deep furrow in the dirt - the same marks as here."  
"Has anyone figured out who he is yet?" the other man pointed to the injured man.  
"The paramedics have called for an ambulance, they're coming by helicopter from London. I'm going to set off a smoke bomb in the clearing so they can find us," the younger colleague said. "They turned him around, but he had no ID with him, only his keys and a phone. But it doesn't matter, we know who he is. It's Martin Freeman."

Charlotte opened her mouth, she turned her head around.  
"God, I didn't look at him that closely. I didn't even recognize him." She covered her mouth.  
The older policeman put one hand on her shoulder.  
"It has now been clarified who he is," he smiled encouragingly, while the other policeman left to light the smoke bomb for the helicopter that was about to arrive.

The young policeman came back after a few minutes – after the sound of the helicopter hadn’t been hearable any longer.  
He came back with an emergency doctor and another paramedic.

The emergency doctor and her paramedic knelt down on the ground next to Martin and the other three paramedics.  
Martin was now lying on his back, a stiff neck had been put around his neck since neck and spinal cord injuries couldn’t be excluded, yet.  
"Hello," she said to the others. "Is he responsive again?"  
"Hello. No, he is still unconscious. Suspected head trauma, fractured clavicle, wrist and femur neck. Treated laceration. Indwelling cannula on the left. Oxygen’s running on two litres, pressure's 150/80."  
"Thank you. Very good," she said.

She checked his breathing, circulation and pressure again, also checked his whole body all over again.  
"Fractured clavicle, contusions to thorax, fractured wrist, fractured neck of femur." She looked up.  
"Pressure at 80," her colleague said.  
She looked up at her colleagues from the ambulance.  
"Our stretcher, the scoop stretcher and the vacuum mattress, and then off to the ambulance, we'll continue treatment there," she gave the orders.

And less than two minutes later everything she ordered from the helicopter was with her.

Stanley barked, stood up - now that they wanted to carry Martin away from him.  
"Whose dog is that?" the emergency doctor shouted.  
Charlotte turned her head around, had just had a conversation with the policemen, she came quickly towards Stanley and the others.  
"I'm so sorry. That's mine. He's absolutely stubborn," she said, reaching into Stanley's collar, who was trying to break loose. "Stay! They want to protect him just like you do, you stubborn dog." She admonished him and pulled him away a little. "Let the people do their work," she told him. "Lie down and wait."  
Stanley stopped trying to break loose and watched exactly what was happening.

Two paramedics pushed the two parts of the scoop stretcher under Martin's body, clicked them back into a stretcher.  
"Careful on three," said another paramedic. „1,… 2,… 3!“  
The scoop stretcher was lifted and carefully placed on the stretcher with the vacuum mattress. They fitted the mattress exactly to Martin's body, let some of the air out to make the mattress harder, and then they took him to the ambulance.  
Not only was the mattress suitable because neck and spinal injuries couldn’t be excluded, yet – but it was also perfect for the initial treatment of the fracture of the femoral neck.

Charlotte looked after the emergency doctor and the four paramedics who were just getting into the ambulance. The emergency doctor with a suitcase in her hand, her paramedic with another suitcase and a backpack, the others had pushed the stretcher into the car.  
The doors were closed.  
And Stanley barked again.  
"Calm down, sweetie." Charlotte said and put the leash on him. "Come on." She said, almost had to drag him to the policeman.

The sight of Martin had been horrible - abrasions all over his face, a large plaster plus a bandage around his head for the laceration whose blood she had seen; and then this stiff neck.  
She had always wanted to meet him - but not here in the forest, badly injured.  
Stanley was standing with her, but he was looking in the direction of the ambulance.  
...but the doors stayed closed and nobody drove off.

Inside the ambulance everyone was very concentrated.  
"Pressure's at 60," the paramedic from the helicopter informed his colleagues of the sudden drop.  
"We're going to intubate,” the emergency doctor said calmly but firmly.  
Her colleague handed her the laryngoscope, which she inserted into Martin's mouth. She took the tube with the guide rod in her right hand, inserted the tube into Martin's trachea.  
Her colleague removed the guide rod from the tube.  
"Okay, block it," she said.  
And the colleague blocked the cuff in Martin's windpipe with the attached disposable syringe; the breathing tube got connected to it and they switched on the medical ventilator.

"Pressure's at 50!”  
"We'll hook him up to an ECG," the doctor said.  
One of the paramedics cut open Martin's t-shirt, before the paramedic from the helicopter taped the electrodes to Martin's body.  
The doctor checked Martin's pupils again.  
"Pupils dilated and rounded."  
Signs with a few meanings and causes – maybe a cranio-cerebral trauma, or coma or damage to the midbrain, or a circulatory arrest.  
The ECG machine beeped.

"Flatline." The emergency doctor said loud and clear.

She began with CPR - immediately.

She performed it for two minutes, and then her voice could be heard again.  
"L-Adrenaline.", she asked for a medication, which was used, among other things, in the event of a cardiopulmonary arrest.  
A paramedic injected the drug through the cannula into Martin's body, they waited a moment while one of the paramedics had taken over CPR for two minutes.  
The ECG still showed a flatline.

After two minutes, another paramedic took over CPR, pressing down his flat hands in a quick rhythm.  
But there still wasn’t more to see than a flatline. 

"Adrenaline," the doctor said as another paramedic took over CPR – it was absolutely exhausting.

“Gosh, he looked quite stable a few minutes ago,” one of them said, while another did CPR, while another injected the drug, while the other one talked to an unconscious Martin in a calm voice, while the doctor overlooked everything.

Outside, people were still busy at the scene of the accident. 

The pilot and the helicopter technician were also with them.  
"This is taking a long time," Charlotte could hear the engineer say.  
The pilot nodded with a worried face.

In the ambulance, the ECG machine still showed no response, the line was still flat.  
Again and again they changed positions, always after two minutes, since it got exhausting, since it wouldn’t be very effective any longer.  
They were five people, but their arms started to got weaker – 15 minutes of CPR, everyone had given everything three times now; they were sweating, but nevertheless caring and looking after Martin, talking to him, calming him down, telling him everything would be okay.

"Adrenaline!"

And her colleague injected the drug – another paramedic took over CPR, while the one who had just done it, caressed Martin’s head and started talking to him, encouraging him to come back.

The drug had no effect again.  
Martin’s heart didn’t start beating, but CPR and the intubation gave his body and brain enough oxygen to survive.

18 minutes of CPR.

The emergency doctor pulled the small battery torch out of one of her jacket pockets, lifted Martin's left lid, shone into his eye, did the same with the right eye.  
"Still rounded and dilated," she looked at his bruised face. "Adrenaline again," she said, determined to bring Martin back to life.  
"Megan,... we already have injected three ampou..."  
He was stubbornly interrupted.  
"I said another one!"  
And John injected another ampoule of the drug into Martin’s body.

It was Megan’s turn for another two minutes of CPR – she didn’t stop, continued after two minutes.

"Megan... " John said calmly.  
"Be quiet and take over!" she said with a stressed and waspish voice.

Their first rescue this morning had been a little boy, who had slipped into the pond in the garden of the family home – unnoticed. He had been lying in the broth for 15 minutes. They had also had to fight for the boy's life with CPR – but they had lost.  
This time it would not happen.  
She would not lose a second patient today.  
She would continue to fight until he was back or had given up himself.

Four and a half minutes had passed again – CPR was still going.

Nothing.  
4:31.  
4:32.  
4:33.  
4:34.  
And the ECG struck out.

"We have him back," she said in relief.  
There was sweat on all their faces, but as exhausted as everyone was looking after 25 minutes of CPR, their eyes smiled and sparkled – everyone was relieved and proud.  
“We’ll fly him to the Royal right away," she said before she moved away from Martin and opened the doors of the ambulance. She was looking for her pilot. "We'll fly him, Jack!"

She grabbed one of the suitcases they no longer needed and jumped out of the ambulance.

It all happened incredibly fast - the eyes of the policemen, the eyes of Charlotte and Stanley couldn't keep up.

The pilot and the flight engineer had already run for the helicopter.  
The paramedics had put the ECG machine and medical ventilator on Martin's stretcher; the backpack and another suitcase was grabbed, and as one of them carried the equipment, the others were rushing Martin from the ambulance to the helicopter – as fast as possible, but also as careful as possible.

"Heeeey! Where are you bringing him?", the older policeman shouted after them.  
"Royal," was the short but clear message from one of the paramedics.  
The man form the Metropolitan Police nodded and looked back at Charlotte.  
"Let's see if you can still help us, Mrs. Ferguson. And if you want, we can take you home then.”, he said to her, leading her to one of the police cars.  
Stanley was forced to follow; he was barking and howling.

The rescue helicopter took off for the Royal London Hospital; John had just signed them in via radio.

Megan looked down at Martin, sighed.  
This day was horrible.  
First the little boy, then they had been sitting around for ages without any action at all, they had all hoped for another mission - but for heaven’s sake not another mission where death was scratching at the door to come in.  
"How long do we need?", she asked over the radio in her helmet.  
"Seven minutes," her pilot said.  
"Okay."

Martin was not really stable, one could see that clearly on the ECG, one could see that clearly in the pressure John just measured.

"The pressure is dropping rapidly again," the paramedic said. "Flatline again!"  
"Adrenaline," she said and reaching out her hand to John.

Without another word, John prepared the syringe and handed it to her.  
Megan injected the drug.  
She waited impatiently for something to happen, for the drug to get Martin's heart and circulation working again.

Nothing.

She laid her hands on Martin's chest and began with CPR – all over again.  
"How long will it take?" she asked.  
"Five minutes," the pilot said over the radio.  
"Can't we go any faster?" she asked stressed, continuing to apply constant pressure to the chest.  
"I'm already at the limit, Megan. I can’t."  
Megan didn’t answer, just kept going.

She stopped after another two minutes and John took over.  
The ECG machine was unresponsive.  
The flatline remained.  
She continued after two more minutes.  
“Use the time to give him another shot.”

"Megan, at some point... at some point... there's nothing more you and we can do."  
Megan kept going like she was in some sort of trance.  
"I'm the doctor, I'm your boss, you're supposed to follow my orders, Johnny! Give him another shot! We already lost one patient today, we're not losing another one. We are not giving up as long as he isn’t giving up!"  
The pilot and flight engineer both turned their heads around.  
"What's going on?"  
"We're losing him because our paramedic stopped fighting!" Megan said snappily.

John reached into the backpack, didn’t say another word, just pulled the next ampoule of adrenaline into the syringe. Of course he wanted to fight for each of their patients, and the death of the 5-year-old boy this morning was hard and pretty touching, but even they as paramedics and emergency doctors had to realise that there was a point, when there was nothing left to save.  
He injected the drug and kept quiet.

Megan knew this exact point, when there was nothing left to save.  
In a way they had already been beyond that in the ambulance and still he did come back, and they would do that again now, sometimes you just had to be stubborn and combative and hope where there was no more hope.  
Martin hadn’t given up, yet – neither would she.

"Come on! Come on, Martin! Season 4 isn't even out yet and we're all already waiting for Season 5, so don't you dare to fucking give up," she said to him. She didn't want to lose anyone else today - it was part of her job, but she just didn't want to lose someone else today.  
She turned her head to the ECG machine, worshipped it with her eyes.  
John looked to the device and even their onboard technician looked back to them.  
“Come on! Come on, Martin! There’s so much more to experience and enjoy. We’re on our way to the hospital. You will be fine. You will be absolutely fine. Just don’t give up.”

Flatline.  
Silence.  
Beeping.  
Response.

Three beaming faces; a hand patting John's thigh.  
"We don't stop fighting until I or the patient says so," Megan said seriously to her colleague despite her beaming face.  
John smiled and nodded, the flight engineer turned around again and the pilot could be heard again.  
"Is he back?"  
"He's back with us again - but he's extremely unstable, he finally needs the treatment of the hospital. How long will it take you?" Megan asked.  
"Two more minutes," the pilot said.  
Megan sighed - Martin was extremely unstable, he finally had to be examined properly.

For several seconds they flew in silence through the London sky, over the city, which was very busy.  
The ECG machine beeped again.  
There wasn’t a flatline, there were a lot of rises.  
Actually, a normal resting heart rate for adults ranges from 60 to 100 beats per minute, but Martin's heart rate was at 320 times a minute.

"He's fibrillating!" John said hectically.  
"We have to use the defibrillator, we can't wait two minutes," Megan said - the information was mainly for the pilot who had to be informed if the defibrillator was used during the flight.  
"That's fine," he agreed.  
John already had turned on the defibrillator, had already attached the sticky pads to Martin’s skin, one on each side of the chest.  
The defibrillator assessed that a shock was needed.  
"Watch out," Megan gave the order, but John was already leaning away from Martin.  
He pressed the shock button when Megan leaned back, too.

The shock was delivered.

Flatline - that was normal, because the heart would stop for a short time and then continue beating in a normal rhythm; at least that was what was supposed to happen.

The flatline remained for a few seconds.  
Within seconds the frequency changed.

300.  
250.  
200.  
150.  
100.  
89.  
87.  
83.  
77.

The heart rate was down to a normal rhythm.  
For the first time since the pressure suddenly dropped rapidly in the forest of Potters Bar, Martin was stable.  
Blood pressure and pulse were stable, along with his heart and circulation. 

"We're landing,"  
"And we are stable," Megan replied with a smile.

Before the rear door of the helicopter was quickly opened, four faces were beaming with relief.

Megan and John had delivered their patient safely to the Royal - and had even waited for some time until a new mission had arrived.  
But in the evening, after they had checked out and had finished their work, Megan and John had been back to the Royal London Hospital, asking about Martin.  
They had visited him in the intensive care unit, connected to a variety of devices - diagnosed with a fracture of the femoral neck, fracture of the wrist, fracture of the collarbone, a contused thorax, a moderate cranio-cerebral trauma, bruises, abrasions and a laceration.  
They had been informed that he had fallen into a coma. 

They had saved him - and the doctors were also confident, although the coma still surprised them.

John put his arm around Megan's shoulder on the way out of the hospital.  
And Megan smiled happily.

"Sometimes we all need more stubbornness and fighting spirits," John said.  
"...and a little bit of luck," she winked.

Martin had had enough of everything.  
The stubbornness of a dog.  
A family whose day had happened to be quite different and had played into his hands with a lot of luck.  
The fighting spirit of an emergency doctor who hadn't given up even when it had seemed to be hopeless.  
And his own fighting spirit - not to let go.


	26. Concealed Details

_**\- Wednesday, September/14 -2016, lunchtime, Potters Bar, forest –** _

The midday sun was shining down on two men - through the treetops and along the commercial vehicle path.  
The two men were sitting on a bench by the path - they were silent, just holding each other.  
One of them rather held on to the other - held on to the other like a drowning man.  
The man who was hugged tightly and safely, trembled - he was pressing his face into the crook of the other's neck to forget the world around him, to shield himself, to see nothing.

Martin pressed his face into Benedict's crook of the neck - the darkness did him good, made him forget that he was in the forest, that they were sitting exactly at the spot where he had had this awful bicycle accident.  
So far, he had already been questioned by the police, but so far, he hadn't been able to tell them anything useful - but they had at least wanted to give it a try since not only them had hoped that he might remember something if the right questions were asked, but also him. The time at the police station hadn't only been frustrating for the police but also for Martin.  
The police was desperate to find the perpetrator, after all, this was a case of serious bodily injury, almost negligent murder, with a hit-and-run - and on top of that, there were the minor offences that this person had used this path in the forest illegally and had driven too fast. But so far, they had only been able to determine the type of tire and the approximate model of the car - a SUV was suspected. But there were countless SUVs of the assumed size and exactly this type of tire in the area.  
Martin would have loved to help; firstly, because he also wanted this driver not to get away scot-free, and secondly, because he hoped to get some memories back from the questions of the police. He had hoped to bring light into the darkness again. Unfortunately it had not worked out.  
But now, now he would be able to help them - and that was the only good thing about this special memory.

Benedict rubbed Martin's back, still hugged him tightly and safely - the hug was saying: You're not alone, you're safe.  
It broke his heart every time he saw Martin upset.  
Of course, Martin was not always in a good mood; he was a little grumbling dwarf, could get grumpy and angry very quickly; he constantly doubted and questioned himself and everything he did; he was a sensible man, but also loving life. He had never seen Martin as melancholy and depressed as in the last few weeks. This wasn't the Martin he knew - he wanted him back, not only for himself, but for Martin, too.

Martin calmed down in Benedict's arms - slowly but steadily.  
He leaned his cheek againts Benedict's shoulder, no longer pressed his face desperately into the crook of Ben's neck; he didn't hug him like a drowning man any longer - he was rather cuddling with Ben right here on the bench.

"I can remember - I know what happened," he murmured.  
The panic had become fear – the fear had become a feeling of unease.  
Ben put his cheek on Martin's head.  
"Would you like to tell me?"  
Martin nodded slightly – still cuddling with Ben.  
"I was still tired and feeling sick due to the amount of alcohol during the wrap party - so I decided to go on a little bicycle trip through the forest since the weather was fantastic. I wanted to get rid of the sick and tired feeling and my headache," he murmured. "I took my bike and realised I forgot my helmet – it was hanging at the wardrobe. I was too lazy to go back inside,... I thought that nothing would happen in the forest.”  
"You could have fallen from your bike even when riding slowly, Martin," Ben mumbled. "A smaller branch or a smaller unexpected hole would have been enough to make you fall from your bike." He rubbed Martin’s back – it hadn't sounded reproachfully, and yet Martin swallowed.

"Hmm," he said. "I was driving through the forest, right here. I didn’t want to go home; I wanted to cross that path. Suddenly I heard a car. But it was driving very fast. I didn't have the chance to stop my bike. The car didn't stop, too. I hit the front tire. I climbed over my bicycle and the bonnet of the car. I tried to catch my fall but I failed. My hip hurt a lot, so I assume I hit the ground with my hip first. I slipped away with my hand, then my head hit the ground. Everything was blurred, I couldn't see properly, I couldn't hear properly, I couldn't move. I heard dull noises as the car drove away," he murmured. "I panicked and probably passed out. But at some point a woman talked to me; I don't know what she said but I think it was Charlotte. I passed out again, then I woke up in the hospital. I know what the car looked like, well... I think it was silver," he added at the end.

Benedict hugged him tighter.

"Please, Martin,... please promise me you will never ride your bike again without a helmet. No matter how slowly you will go, no matter if there are no cars, no matter how lazy you are," he murmured. "I mean, there had been some speculation about what happened to you based on your injuries and the bike - but now hearing how it happened gives me an icy chill. There are so many small and big elevations here in the forest. You were damn lucky that the fall on your hip and slipping away with your hand caught the fall at least a little bit, otherwise you would have hit the ground with your head first. Next time just waste a minute and walk 50 metres to get that helmet."  
"Hmm." Martin mumbled and swallowed.

Benedict loosened the hug a little bit, put his hands on Martin's upper arms, pushed him away a little bit to look at him.

"Your laziness, Martin, almost cost you your life. Despite catching your fall a little bit, you still hit your head badly. It wasn't only because of Charlotte's daily routine and her stubborn dog Stanley that chance and luck played into your hands that day. They saved your life by finding you there, but you were in life threatening danger afterwards, Martin. The next time you ride your bike and think you don't need a helmet, don't think that you were lucky the last time," Ben said forcefully and very worried, because he had an additional piece of information that Martin hadn’t, yet.  
Martin swallowed, looked into the serious and strongly worried face of Ben. 

Ben's eyes were dull, showing great concern, fear, almost panic. The eyes were moist, you could see him swallow, convulsively trying to hold back the tears.  
"I do not want to lose my best friend because of his laziness."  
Martin swallowed again, looked at Ben's face, saw the wet eyes.  
"Why... why do you suddenly look so... so worried? And why are you almost crying?", Martin muttered wit a worried voice.

Ben swallowed down the lump in his throat.  
So far, the doctors hadn’t told Martin about what really happened to avoid the stress that was connected with it, they had also given the police the explicit prohibition to talk about it, as long as he didn't feel better and would be able to remember. And they had advised them or rather Martin's family to not tell him either - Jamie had told him, Amanda and Simon the whole story; he had told them everything that had happened on the way to the hospital.  
Everyone has followed the doctor's advice to hold back this major stress point.  
But now Martin could remember, now Martin was actually feeling better, now he knew that Martin had simply been too lazy to get this helmet out of a house he had been standing in front of.

His own stress was showing - all the fear and concern for Martin when he heard about the accident, all the details Amanda had given him, all the things he had stupidly heard in the lurid news. He was certainly not the only one who had been extremely worried and stressed about Martin, but he was the first one to hear the story of the accident in Martin's point of view.  
The fear for Martin mixed with anger, because his best friend hadn't wanted to walk fifty meters to get a helmet out of the house; and it mixed with the panic that he might never have seen Martin again - his colleague, his best friend and the man he had fallen in love with, the man in which he had found the love of his life.  
It was stressed, anxious and panicky anger, but it burst out of him in one depressing sentence.

"They had needed to fucking resuscitate you twice just because you have been too fucking lazy to walk fifty fucking metres to get your fucking helmet, you fucking asshole!"

Martin's eyes suddenly went big, his mouth opened, his heart started racing like crazy, his stomach contracted strongly, panic rushed through every vein.  
And he looked into a face that looked panicky - not angry anymore, just panicky; big eyes, open mouth; the eyes flitted around in panic, but there was clearly something else in them.  
An apology.

"Sorry," Ben apologised sheepishly and politely for his swearing outburst - that's not how he had wanted to tell Martin, but all the fear and stress had suddenly burst out of him. "Well,... I didn't want to tell that in the way I just did," he said. "I’m sorry, Martin. Your laziness just made me extremely angry, all the stress, panic and fear of maybe never seeing you again just burst out."

Martin closed and opened his mouth again and again.  
He chewed his lips, swallowed, took a deep breath.

"What... what? I,… they needed to... what? Why... why do I not know that?", Martin asked with eyes wide open in horror and panic; he was stuttering.

Ben swallowed, ran his hand through his hair, rubbing his wet eyes.

"The doctors told your family about it, but asked them not to tell you until you were feeling better - they wanted to avoid the stress that would be triggered by it. They also expressly forbade the police to say anything about it. Jamie talked about it with Simon, Amanda and me. We all just wanted to protect you, Martin. I'm sorry it slipped out the way it did," Ben said apologetically. “I’m very sorry.”  
Martin's eyes still flitted across Ben's face, looking at him from panic-stricken eyes in which you could almost see the racing heart rate.  
"Then... then tell me now. I want to know what happened, Ben," he murmured sheepishly.  
The insult and swearing were long forgotten; he could see the stress and panic in Benedict's eyes; Ben was extremely concerned, and it had just been anger that had been triggered by fear of losing a loved one - his body could feel it, no matter how panicky he felt right now.

Ben raised his hand, caressed through Martin's hair.

"You weren’t stable – there was a problem with your circulation, that's why they wanted to treat you in the ambulance, afterwards they wanted to take you to the hospital here in Potter's Bar. But in the ambulance your blood pressure suddenly dropped immensely – they intubated you, precautions. Then your heart had stopped beating. It took them 25 minutes to get you back," he murmured and looked into Martin's panicked and frightened face. "Then the doctor decided to fly you to the Royal. On the way, they had lost you again. But they had managed to bring you back after less than 10 minutes. Then your heart rate was suddenly too high. You had ventricular fibrillation, Martin - with 320 beats per minute. Ventricular fibrillation is life-threatening, you don't need 320 beats per minutes for that, much less than that would have been enough to kill you. They had to use the defibrillator in the helicopter so that your heart stops beating for a short time and then hopefully continues to beat in a normal rhythm. That's what happened. You were stable when they landed at the Royal," Ben said. "The doctor who treated you at the Royal told your family that the emergency doctor had come back late at night to see how you were doing. She told him that they had lost a patient on their first mission that day, they had not been able to get him back. She said that she didn't want to lose another patient that day. That's why she kept fighting for your life – even so it had already been hopeless in some way," he muttered. "At some point even doctors have to stop fighting, Martin. At some point you reach a point where you have to realise that it is a wasted effort - but she continued fighting. And that's the only reason I can hug you right now, you lazy idiot. You've been very lucky," Ben murmured and pulled Martin into the announced hug.

Martin hung in that hug like cold pudding, just motionless. He was pressed against Ben as if the tall man would never let him go again.  
He felt Benedict's racing heart and he could feel his own heart racing like mad.  
His ears and his head could hardly believe and process what they just heard.

Twice.  
He had been dead - twice.  
Three times - counting the brief shock of the defibrillator.  
Three times, because of a helmet that had been unreachable due to laziness - although it had been hanging at the wardrobe only fifty metres away from him.  
How many times, throughout your life, could you walk fifty metres, unlock a house with a key, take a helmet, put it on, close the house, and walk fifty metres back again?  
Several million times, probably.  
And he had already been too lazy to do it once.  
He swallowed.

And suddenly Martin also wrapped his arms around Benedict, hugging him tightly.  
They were both holding on to each other.

Benedict held Martin, making him feel safe.  
Martin held Benedict; this time, he gave him security, too.


	27. Suppressed Feelings

_**\- Thursday, September/15 - 2016, 02:55am, Potters Bar, Martin’s house, bedroom -** _

Cool and fresh September air blew through the open window into Martin's bedroom. 

Martin had just woken up; he was freezing, only wearing his boxer shorts. He pulled the blanket over his body, snuggled into the blanket. Actually, he didn't feel like getting up now because of the open window. He wasn't really tired, but he was just too lazy to get up and leave the lovely warm bed.  
It wasn't really that warm anymore, and somehow it didn't get warmer under the blanket any longer.  
Martin sighed - he would have to get up, for better or worse - not only because of the window, but also to put on some clothes.  
Martin sat up, freed himself from the blanket and rubbed his arms. He got up, closed the window first and then walked to the dresser in the bedroom. He pulled a t-shirt and pyjama trousers out of one of the drawers and slipped into the clothes.  
His eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, but when he walked back to the bed, he turned on the bedside lamp. 

Martin let himself sink back onto the bed, adjusted the pillow a little, placed it against the backrest and leaned his back against it - he pulled the blanket over his legs.  
He was awake, quite awake at the moment – he was pretty much awake because he had already laid down in the afternoon, just wanting to take a little nap, but he actually had fallen asleep. He had just been very exhausted, and on top of that the flashback of the accident had hit him pretty hard. Not to mention the information that he had been resuscitated several times.  
He didn't blame Benedict and the others - this big memory loss had already been a huge ballast, and he was glad that they hadn’t told him about it; at least until now. And yet he wondered why the doctors hadn't told him, wasn't it their duty to inform him about the accident and what happened? Well, they had only been able to speculate about the accident itself, but there were records of the treatments at the accident site and from the helicopter ride, records of what had happened during the treatment. But the doctors had only told him that he had probably needed to wait for help a long time, and that the woman who found him basically saved his life by calling the ambulance - he had met that woman, Charlotte, in the hospital, but unfortunately she hadn’t really been able to say much about the accident nor the treatment.

That he had been gone basically three times had upset him quite a lot, it had made him quite panicky, and it was only in Benedict's arms that he had been able to slowly calm down. He hadn’t been panicky because he had been dead several times; he had been panicky and upset because he had realised that he would have never been able to see his family and friends again - that was what had made him feel upset and panicky.  
It was horrible to know how terribly close it had been. 

It was horrible to know that his laziness to go back into the house to get the helmet had almost cost him his life - but the question was if it would have helped him if he would have had a helmet.  
He had been hit by a car that wasn’t even allowed to use that path, especially not at this speed; the driver had just drove off without helping, and he had just been lucky that a dog hadn’t listened to his dog owner.  
Would the helmet really have helped him if the dog hadn’t found him?  
Surely he would have injured his head even with the helmet; and who knows how long he would have been lying there all by himself if the dog wouldn’t have found him; and who knows what that would have meant for his life.  
In the end, probably lots of factors played in his hands that day, that he was now able to sit in his bed and think about it.

If he could have lived without one special memory, then it was the memory of the accident - he had already thought exactly this in the hospital.  
To be honest, he was grateful for the news about the resuscitation - it just showed how lucky he had been, how grateful he could be to be alive; it just showed that sometimes it was better to overcome your laziness and take two minutes to ensure your safety; it just showed how quickly life could be over.

With Benedict, he had been sitting on the bench for quite a while and then they had gone to his place - Benedict had stayed for a while, they had talked about the accident and about everything that had happened afterwards; he had been incredibly lucky that nothing worse had happened.  
This accident and its consequences really showed the unbelievable luck he had had - everything would be fine in a couple of weeks, in a couple of months.  
It was just unbelievable, especially when he thought about the fact that he had been dead three times - once quite long, then a little shorter, then only for a short little moment.  
His collarbone would be completely fine again, his wrist too, as well as his hip and thigh; all the memories would be back again sometime.  
This accident could have ended so much worse - he could have paid for his laziness with his life, and with that he wouldn't have seen his family and friends ever again; he wouldn't have been able to hug them again, never been able to talk to them again. 

He was grateful for the luck and chance; he was thankful for Charlotte and her family, Stanley the dog, and especially for the emergency doctor - he really needed to find her.

Martin ran his hand through his hair, rubbed his neck.  
He had been incredibly happy that Benedict had stayed with him a little bit.  
He leaned his head against the wall, closed his eyes.  
Benedict.  
He smiled, enjoying the tingling in his tummy – the name alone caused the butterflies to fly and dance wildly in his tummy. His heart raced faster and harder against his ribcage. It was a pleasant feeling, an incredibly beautiful feeling. His stummy was tingling, his heart throbbing; he felt the warm feeling in his body.  
He let his thoughts drift further towards Ben, which only intensified the tingling in his tummy, the throbbing heartbeat and the warm feeling in his body - and the smile on his face also grew bigger.  
He still had the feeling that he had fallen in love with him all over again. 

He could remember so many things about Ben, and he buried himself deeper and deeper into those memories.

A new memory came up.

Stories and pictures, something called Johnlock and Freebatch.  
He instantly tucked up his legs, wrapped his arms around his knees.  
He saw pictures of it in front of him - self drawn pictures; pictures that had been edited with Photoshop. He saw stories in front of him - sequences.  
Amanda had showed him these pictures and stories, then he had looked for them himself during filming the Hobbit, and then they had been asked about it in interviews, not only about the Johnlock thing, but also about Freebatch.  
And he also heard the fans on the red carpet or on the streets in his head - saying how much they'd love to see John and Sherlock kiss; he heard them say the same thing about him and Benedict, that they'd love to see them kiss, to see them as a couple.  
He saw more pictures in front of his eyes - pictures of Bilbo and Smaug, pictures of Arthur Dent and Khan; pictures of Dr. Everett Ross and Doctor Strange.  
He tucked up his legs a little bit more.  
Martin felt his heart beating even faster, he felt his tummy start to tingle even more.

He opened his eyes abruptly, rubbing his face.  
He suddenly felt what he had felt back then – he had been flattered; he had wished for a kiss scene, just so he could kiss Benedict; he had wished to answer the fans question, if they were a couple, with a simple yes.  
Martin blinked a few times.

Ben. 

He was in love with Ben!  
He had been in love with him!  
That's why it felt as if he had fallen in love all over again as if he was twice as much in love with him - it was the truth. It wasn't just a feeling, it was the truth.  
He loved Ben, he had fallen in love with Benedict a long time ago - but he had suppressed his feelings.  
Martin swallowed, hugged his legs a little bit more, because all these feelings just came back.

He had felt like being in a tight corner.  
The feelings for Ben had moved to another level, they had unsettled him, had made him nervous and then these Freebatch pictures and stories had appeared - and all the other stories about their characters, too. The gossip of the fans about Ben and him had started - and that had made him even more insecure and even more nervous.  
He hadn't trusted his own feelings anymore. It had felt like the fans had pushed him to love Ben with these pictures and stories and the talking and the questions and the gossip. He had been afraid that he didn't really love Ben, but that it was just a feeling, triggered by these hopes of the fans. He had been so unsure of his own feelings at some point that he had simply suppressed his love for him, or rather, he had assumed at some point that he didn't love Ben because of his own feelings, but because the fans had talked about it for so long that he just believed it himself. 

Martin stared into his bedroom.  
His heart was pounding violently against his ribcage.  
He hadn't made something the truth just because people had been talking about it all the time.  
The love for Ben had been real - his own feelings.  
He hadn't just fallen in love with Benedict in the last few weeks, he had just finally understood it - or maybe he had simply fallen in love with this ravishing and handsome gentleman all over again.  
Martin swallowed again.  
He was such an idiot - why hadn’t he stopped his stupid thinking? Why hadn’t he stopped his own insecurity? Why couldn't his head stop thinking for once? 

Martin took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his hair.  
He had gotten so insecure that he hadn’t been able to distinguish which feelings were telling the truth.  
He had been deeply and truthfully in love with Ben, and he still was - even more than before the accident.  
He was madly in love with Benedict Cumberbatch.

He had to close his eyes – there was another flashback.  
Not one that lasted just a few seconds.  
This flashback or daydream lasted much longer.

\----------Daydream----------

_He came back to the terrace with the whiskey – he had refilled Ben’s glass. He sat down to Benedict again, to whom he handed the whiskey with a smile, before filling his own glass, too.  
Ben smiled gratefully at him, looked at the Whiskey, then to him.  
He tilted his head, raised an eyebrow - something was wrong with Ben, he could feel it.  
"What’s up, Sugarnut? You look... relaxed and happy, and somehow quite thoughtful and tensed up. I can't quite tell what’s going on in your head, but I’ve the feeling that something isn’t alright," he smiled.  
He saw Benedict biting his lower lip.  
"I would like to talk to you about something. It's been on my mind for a while now, but so far I haven't found the courage to talk to you about it. But I just have to get rid of it now," Benedict said rather tensed up._

_He sat up, turned more towards Ben. He smiled softly and cheerfully. He was quite curious what Benedict had to say to him and somehow it made him nervous.  
"I'm here and ready to listen, Ben."  
Benedict also turned to him, looked at him.  
"I'll... I'll just say it before I talk and talk and talk, and haven’t said it in the end," he murmured and Martin nodded with a soft and attentive smile. And before he opened his mouth again to talk, he gulped down the whiskey. "I fell in love with you, Martin, when we shot season 2 of Sherlock,... and... and I still am."_

_Silence.  
Unbearably loud silence._

_He stared at Benedict, mouth open, eyes wide open. His heart was racing like crazy, his tummy was tingling, a warm feeling was rushing through his body. He was incredibly flattered, felt that this confession was exactly what he had always wanted to hear from Ben. And yet he was incredibly insecure and nervous because of the fans – he had made it his truth that he was just loving Ben because they wanted it, that these feelings weren’t truthful feelings, that the fans had planted these feelings into his heart by talking about it over and over again.  
He didn’t know the real truth any longer.  
He blinked a few times. And then he, too, poured his new whiskey down all at once.  
They both looked at each other.  
He opened his mouth and closed it again.  
He stood up, put his glass down and pointed to the two glasses.  
"I'll get the bottle,... I really need another one and you look like it, too."  
Benedict looked up at him, just nodded._

_He took the whiskey bottle from the living room with a strange happy and insecure nervous feeling. When he got back to Ben, he filled both glasses, put the bottle down and gulped his whiskey down. Ben did the same.  
He cleared his throat.  
"Wow. Ahem. Wow. Ben... well, I haven’t seen this coming. Um... it's not like I'm totally surprised - I mean, we both know we're bisexual, right? But I'm amazed... that it's me you've fallen in love with... that you're still in love with me," he said, completely flabbergasted, rubbing his neck in disbelief. "I'd like to tell you something else, Ben, but for me it's nothing more than this wonderful and beautiful friendship. I'm very flattered, Ben, ... but I can't give you more than my friendship and magical chemistry." he added softly - the fear of hurting Ben with his own insecure and weird feelings that might not been truthful was too big._

_Ben bowed his head, looking quite astonished.  
He looked at Ben, tilted his head; he panicked.  
"Oh God, ... sorry, did I give you any hope for more?", he asked alarmed.  
Ben blinked a few times, nodded, but at the same time shook his head. And then he shook his head and closed his eyes briefly.  
"No, I mean no, you didn't. I was expecting you to kick me out or well, that it would somehow spoil our friendship, I was afraid of spoiling things, but I just had to get it out of my head."_

_He bowed his head again, stretched out his hand and patted Ben's hand with a smile.  
"You can't choose who you fall in love with and sometimes it's not an easy situation. I won’t throw you out. I'm very flattered, Ben. You're a wonderful man and an amazing friend, and you'd certainly be an incredibly boyfriend, but I’m not having the same feeling for you. You are not spoiling things between us, even so it's a very new and interesting feeling that you are in love with me. Thank you for telling me," he said lovingly and squeezed Ben's hand again - and he felt like he was fooling himself by saying that he didn't have the same feelings for Ben._

_He filled both glasses with whiskey again.  
"I need another one," he winked softly at Ben. "And maybe you too, to calm down your heart a bit, I can literally see and hear your racing heart," he smiled encouragingly - felt his own heart almost explode.  
He handed the glass to Ben, who accepted it with a slight smile.  
And then the golden liquid flowed down their throats again._

_Benedict turned his glass in his hand, raised his head and looked at him.  
"Thanks for the compliments. Of course I would have loved to hear something else, Martin - I think that's clear, but I'm glad that nothing will change in our friendship because that's what has kept me from telling you this all these years. You're a wonderful man too, Martin,... and you're a fantastic friend,... and you'd certainly be a gorgeous partner - but I'm glad that you're honest with me instead of just telling me what I want to hear,” Ben said after taking a deep breath.  
He smiled gently at Ben and bowed his head.  
"The last thing I want to do is hurt you,... even though I've just done it with the truth for sure; but the lie would have hurt you even more in the end," he smiled honestly. He fiddled with his glass. It was the right thing to do. He was too insecure, too confused, had the feeling that the fans had forced him to love Ben. He would never forgive himself if he would hurt Ben just because of his own confused and weird feelings. "Did... um, did you break up with Sophie because of me?" he asked and raised his head again._

_Ben sighed; he put down his glass, ran his hand through his hair and then rubbed his neck.  
"Yes and no. I've known her for a while and well, ... I knew you and me,… that this won’t happen as I would like it to happen. At some point I had the feeling that I'm no longer in love with you. And then I felt like I loved Sophie, maybe I did, but not quite truthfully and deeply. The desire to have family and to be a dad was strong and the love for her felt real at first, but then we got married, Christopher was there, and then I realized I wasn't over you. I realised Sophie couldn't give me what I wanted because I wanted to be a family with you," Ben gulped. "I know you liked her in general, but you also thought that we weren’t a match. And well, talking to you about her and me,… that really got me thinking again. I broke up with her, not because you told me in a roundabout way that it was better this way, but because I didn't think it was right to keep telling her I loved her even though it wasn't true," Ben took a deep breath. "In the end, I should have really thought about it beforehand. It wasn't right to rush into this relationship just because I wanted to be a dad and I was hoping to get over you. She was a placeholder, and it wasn't meant to be."_

_He tilted his head, had listened to Ben attentively. The whole time he had noticed that Ben hadn't really been happy, but so far he hadn't known the reason. It all made more sense now.  
"It wasn't right to start a relationship under these circumstances, that's right. In the end I can understand you, I know how much you love children and how much you wanted to be a dad,... and Sophie was nice and you had things in common and she could give you what you wanted. Love, family, children. The one thing I couldn't give you. It's human, Ben. It's not right, but how often do we all make mistakes and only think about ourselves? We can't always do the right thing," he said softly._

_He slid his chair a little closer and opened his arms.  
"Come here,... " he smiled lovingly at Ben.  
Ben looked at him in surprise, but sat up.  
And shortly afterwards he could wrap his arms around Benedict's neck and pull him into a gentle hug.  
"You really don't need to worry about our friendship, Ben. I know you'd like it to be more, but let's just leave it like it is. I really don't want to hurt you. Ben, you're important to me, really, incredibly important, you mean a lot to me. Unfortunately, the love I feel for you is purely amicable and not romantic. I'm incredibly sorry, Ben. I wish I could tell you something else. Thank you for your honesty. It is an honour that you have given me your heart, ... and on a friendly level I will guard and protect it with everything I have," he murmured softly, rubbing Benedict's back._

_\----------End of Daydream----------_

_Martin opened his eyes.  
His heart made a somersault – not just one, but quite a few.  
Ben had confessed his love to him back in May.  
And he remembered that they had agreed to stop flirting, to stop too much and unnecessary physical contact.  
What had he done?  
Benedict had been absolutely honest with him - and it certainly hadn’t been easy for Benedict to make this confession.  
And what had he done?  
He had not been able to fucking tell him the truth.  
He had not been able to tell Benedict what he was feeling.  
He hadn't been able to say that he felt like he loved him too, but that he was afraid it was just a figment of his imagination from all the pictures and stories and the gossip of the fans.  
He hadn't been able to say it.  
He had been dishonest with Ben, who had opened up to him.  
And what had he accomplished with it?  
Absolutely nothing!  
He had betrayed himself, he had hurt Benedict and he had hurt himself._

_He felt extremely ashamed of himself.  
Why the fuck had he done that?  
He wasn’t someone who was lying to go the easier way.  
He felt extremely ashamed of what he had done._

_He needed to talk to Benedict - urgently._

_His head and his heart had understood that it wasn't a fantasy, that he hadn’t been forced into these feelings - he really loved Ben, it were his own feelings, because without knowing anything about Freebatch and Johnlock, he had fallen head over heels in love with this gorgeous man again.  
He had simply turned his own feelings into another truth out of insecurity and fear - and because his hand never stopped thinking, analysing and speculating._


	28. The Word of Truth

_**\- Thursday, September/15 -2016, late evening, London, Hammersmith, Benedict’s house -** _

The cab stopped in Hammersmith, right in front of Benedict's house.  
Martin paid the cab driver, got out and closed the door.  
It was already dark outside, a fresh breeze was blowing around Martin's ears.  
He walked through the small garden gate, walked along the path to the house, took the three steps to the front door and rang the bell.

Actually, he had wanted to send Benedict a text message this morning.  
He had even typed in the message, had asked him to text him as soon as he was awake. But he had deleted the message before he had send it.  
His head had stopped him; his thoughts had stopped him.  
He hadn’t wanted to rush. He had made Ben wait for a long time, had kind of lied into his face when Ben had confessed his love to him. He didn't want to rush, he didn’t want to ruin it - and so he had used the whole day to sort out his feelings.

He had sorted out the feelings he had had for Ben before the accident and the feelings he had developed after the accident.

They were both strong and intense; now that he realised that the feelings for Ben had always been real; now that he realised that the fans had never pushed him in any direction with all these pictures and stories - they didn't have to push him at all; the stories and pictures just expressed what he really wanted to have with Ben.  
It still felt like he loved him twice as much - and somehow that was true. He had fallen in love with Benedict Cumberbatch and after the accident, he had fallen in love with Benny, who he had needed to get to know again.  
But it had shown him how real the feelings have been, how real the feelings are.

He had not fallen head over heels in love with this man; from the first day they met, Ben had stolen his heart more and more, piece by piece; every day a little bit.  
More and more he had got to know this gorgeous gentleman, more and more he had learned to appreciate and love him; more and more he had felt attracted to him, because on the one hand he was so much like him and on the other hand so dissimilar.  
But he had become completely confused because of his not resting thoughts and the fans - they had just vocalised exactly what he had wanted all the time.

Ben.

He wanted this Freebatch, as they called it.  
Not only the fans had wanted it but also him.  
But without knowing it, all these fans had made him withdraw from these intense Freebatch feelings - with their stories and pictures, with constantly talking about it.  
Without knowing it, they had ensured that they wouldn’t get what they wanted.  
Without knowing it, they had ensured that Martin wouldn’t get what he wanted.

He had thought too much at the wrong moment.  
He should have thought too much when he had wanted to go for a ride in the forest.  
But what had he done?  
He had thought too much about Benedict and his feelings and had switched off his head for his helmet-adventure.  
And what had he got?  
A heartbroken Ben, a broken heart in his own chest, a bicycle accident with fatal consequences, which one had just managed to avert.

He rang the bell again.  
But even after waiting another five minutes, the door was not opened.

He chewed on his lower lip, ran his fingers through his hair.  
He sighed and sat down on the stairs - Benedict would surely come home in a few minutes; he would just wait; that conversation was important, they needed to talk about it, they needed to sort it out.  
He had made Ben wait a long time - and he hoped fervently that Ben was still waiting for him.

An hour passed and Martin closed his blue jacket, which he wore over his light blue shirt.  
It became fresher; the wind blew through his hair.  
Martin blinked once.  
A rain drop on his nose.  
His eyes looked up into the sky.  
Pitch-black.  
And in the glow of the lamp in front of the door, he could see the rain, that was now pouring down on him.

Pitiless and everlasting.

The beige trousers became darker by the rain, the jacket and cloth shoes, too.  
There was no possibility to search for shelter at Benedict's house - and it was already too late anyway.  
He was wet and the tree in the front garden wasn’t an option since he heard the thunder and saw the lightning.  
So he just sat on the stairs, wrapped his arms around his body and let the rain pour down on him.  
He hadn't been standing or sitting in the rain like that for a long time.  
And amazingly, it didn't upset him at all, it didn’t made him angry or grumpy. On the contrary, with the knowledge he now had, he was even grateful that he could still feel the rain.  
Why should he get grumpy because of some rain drops?  
It was great to feel it – because he almost wouldn’t have felt the rain on his skin ever again.

Thick rain drops, a lot of rain drops.

He ran his hand through his wet grey hair, stroked it back; he tucked up his legs, put his arms and head on his knees. 

He closed his eyes.  
Tick tock.  
Twenty minutes of rain.  
Tick tock.  
Fifty minutes.  
The thunder and lightning stopped.  
Tick tock.  
Fifty-eight minutes.  
The wind got stronger.  
Tick tock.  
Eighty-nine minutes.  
It was still raining.  
A voice.

"Martin?" A familiar dark and deep voice, after waiting without any rain and in the rain for over two hours.  
He raised his head, saw Ben rushing towards him.  
"Ah, there you are," Martin smiled.  
Benedict looked at him from under his umbrella; he came closer, holding the umbrella over Martin, protecting him from the rain.  
"What are you doing here? Why are you sitting in the rain? Look at you, you are soaking wet. How long have you been sitting here?", Ben asked with a caring but worried voice.  
Martin looked up at the umbrella, and then at Ben's face.  
"Not that long…," Martin smiled and shivered; he felt extremely cold. "I've been waiting for you. I wanted to talk to you about a flashback I had. But you didn't open, so I just waited."  
Ben reached down his hand.  
"I had dinner with Tom. Gosh, why didn’t you just text me to ask me where I am and when I come back. You could have waited for me in a pub or restaurant, just at a warm and dry place. Come in, get up, Martin. You're freezing."  
Martin took Benedict's hand and stood up.  
"Thank you," Martin said as Ben unlocked the door. "I thought you would just come back any minute," Martin added, and went in with Ben.

Ben slipped out of his shoes, put the umbrella onto the floor.  
"Come on, get out of your shoes and then you can have a hot shower, I'll give you something to wear. And then we can talk about your flashback."  
Martin slipped out of his shoes and just followed Ben upstairs.

Martin walked into the bathroom, heard Ben’s voice.  
"I'm going to get you some clothes. Alright?"  
Martin already took off his wet clothes.  
"It's okay," he said. “Thanks Ben.” He added when Ben already left the bathroom.  
Martin slipped out of his wet shirt, out of his wet boxer briefs; he rubbed his hands together, tried to warm them up, before he stepped to the shower and turned on the water.  
"Come on, give me the hot water," he murmured to himself, encouraging the shower.  
And as soon as he saw the steaming water, he moved his freezing naked body – the hot steaming water was pouring down on him.

Benedict was busy in the bedroom and dressing room.

He tried to figure out what the flashback had been about that Martin waited for him in the pouring rain, that Martin wanted to talk to him very badly.  
He had a hunch and that worried him.  
What if Martin had changed his mind about it, what if he couldn't deal with it anymore?  
He took a deep breath - he shouldn't get panicky about something he didn’t even know. He didn’t even know if Martin had a flashback about his confession.

He picked up several clothes for Martin - boxer shorts, socks, dark blue sweatpants and a grey thick hooded sweatshirt.

He walked over to the bathroom with the clothes, just walked in.  
He put the clothes on the basin, hung the wet clothes over the heated towel rack on the wall.  
So far he had managed not to look to the shower, but on the way back he just couldn't resist it any longer.  
Two of the shower walls were made of glass - Martin stood with his back to him, hot water splashed down on him, and despite the steam he could still make out the luscious butt; at least a little bit of his luscious butt since the water was steaming and making it hard to look through the glass .

"I've brought you some clothes. Just take your time, Martin. I'll be downstairs in the living room."  
"Thanks Benny!"

Ben stopped staring, licked his lips – thank goodness, Martin hadn’t turned his head around when answering with that very soft ‘Thanks Benny!’.  
He licked his lips again, left the bathroom with a fast beating heart.

Martin enjoyed the hot water for a few moments before he turned it off and stepped out of the shower.  
He took the big fluffy towel Ben had laid next to the clothes.  
He was nervous; he was nervous about the upcoming conversation, but he just had to sort it out today. They had to sort it out together. He didn't want the suppressed feelings to ruin their friendship at some point and he didn't want both of them to hold back something they actually wanted, something they could give each other - if Ben was still in love with him.  
If Ben was still in love with him, then they didn't have to suppress any feelings, then they didn't have to give up something they wanted, because then they could give each other what they wanted.  
Love the other one, be loved by the other one.

With every piece of clothing, Martin became more nervous.  
He was absolutely sure of his own feelings - for the first time he was absolutely sure about his feelings for Benedict. He was sure that he loved him, that he had fallen madly in love with him; that he was having incredibly deep feelings for his colleague and his friend.  
Yet, he was nervous about this conversation; the possibility that Benedict no longer loved him, no longer had these feelings for him, was still there.  
But he absolutely had to take a step forward. They couldn't dance around each other all the time. It was up to him to take this relationship to another level - he was the one who had to open up now.

When he was dressed, when he had rubbed his hair dry as much as he could, his heart pounded fast and his tummy tingled with a lot of butterflies. His hands were sweating; he kept rubbing the sweatpants, kept rubbing his neck.  
He closed his eyes, tried to breathe in and out deeply.  
It will be alright, it will be alright - he kept telling himself.  
But his inner babbling couldn't really calm him down.  
He needed more time to calm down, to become more relaxed - but he couldn't stay in the bathroom forever.

He styled his damp hair with his fingers, walked out of the bathroom, down the stairs and into the living room, where Ben was waiting.  
He was wearing the hooded sweater that was too big and the sweatpants that was too long.  
It will be alright.

Benedict smiled at him; he was sitting on the couch, wearing jeans, a dark blue polo shirt, and over it a grey hooded woollen jacket.  
"Hey... " he said softly.  
Martin smiled, too - his heart was beating even faster, now that he could see Benedict properly.  
He walked to Benedict and sat down next to him.  
"Thank you for letting me have a hot shower, and thanks for the clothes - and for letting me bother you this late," Martin said with a soft smile.  
"No problem at all. You are always welcome."  
"I don't want to be a pain in the ass."  
"You know damn well you’re not a pain in the ass, Martin. At least I've told you quite often in the last couple of weeks that you can always count on me, and that I'm happy to help you," Ben smiled. "Do you need anything else? A tea, a blanket, do you want me to light the fireplace?"  
Martin smiled. Ben was right, but still he had the feeling that he was besieging him.  
"I think a blanket would be nice. I didn't realise it was so cold - I just waited."  
Ben smiled, briefly patted Martin's thigh and then handed Martin the blanket that hung over the backrest of the sofa.  
Martin wrapped it around his body, snuggled into it.

Benedict smiled softly at the sight of Martin, gently squeezing his shoulder – damp grey hair that was a bit tousled, even though Martin had tried to style it with his bare hands; a three-day beard; red cheeks from the hot water; wrapped in the grey fleece-blanket. It was such a cute and adorable sight.  
"Have you slept tonight?" Ben asked, pulling his hand back, but the fingertips still touched Martin's shoulder.  
Martin's hand was under the blanket, lying on his thigh, but the fingertips touched Benedict's knee.  
"I already went to bed when you left and I fell asleep. Around 3am I woke up again, and I've been awake ever since," Martin said.

Ben tilted his head.  
"Okay, then you've slept and rested at least a bit," he smiled. "You said something about a flashback you wanted to talk about," Benedict said; he was desperate to know what it was about.

Martin looked at him, nodded.

"Hmm, yes," he murmured. "It's about you and me," he said.  
Benedict sat up - his hunch didn't seem to be wrong.  
"I,... Ben,... I remembered what we talked about back in May," Martin said.  
Ben was now rubbing his neck, running his hand through his hair, biting his lower lip.  
"Did,... did your opinion change in any way?" Ben asked anxiously. "Does it negatively affect our friendship?" he asked and immediately defended himself. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I haven't told you anything yet, I didn't want to overwhelm and overchallenge you with this information. It was such a complex story, and... and... and it was irrelevant, somehow. I mean, we haven't been a couple or anything; we've just talked about it and clarified our friendship, so I haven't said anything. I just... "  
"Ben. Stop," Martin smiled.

Ben blinked, stopped talking.

"Sorry."  
"Thanks for not telling me. You're right, it's very complex, and it would've overwhelmed and overchallenged me. I am grateful for everything that you didn't tell me right away - I know why you held some things back and I am grateful for that. And I am also really grateful for not telling me this, but waiting until I remember it myself. There were so many other things that were more important, that had more relevance. I mean, it is something important. Love is important, and this confession was very important for you, and our friendship, but... it was just irrelevant in the hospital and afterwards. I'm not mad at you," he said to Ben. "And to your other question... I'm still not deterred by your confession, but I have the feeling that this whole thing could negatively affect our friendship if I'm not finally honest with you," Martin said softly.  
Benedict listened to him, got bigger and bigger eyes.  
"Be honest with me?" he asked anxiously and insecurely.  
"I think I need to clear up a few things, Ben. I feel like I didn't do justice to your confession. You opened up to me, and I'm sure this was not easy for you; but I wasn't honest in return," Martin said.  
Ben bowed his head.  
"It was hard, yes... very hard." Ben mumbled. "It's still strange talking to you about it," he added. "Why weren't you honest with me, Martin?", he asked curiously and confused.

Martin took a deep breath, looked at Benedict.  
His heart was racing, his hands sweating again. He cleared his throat, rubbed his neck again.  
"I remembered these Johnlock pictures and stories during the night, or rather, all the stories and pictures that exist of our characters. I also remembered how often our fans and even the press ask if there’s anything going on between us – something that’s much more than friendship," Martin said and Ben nodded. "Ben,... I,... all this talking about it, these pictures, these stories and these wishes that we love each other,... made me feel that I do, that I love you... " Martin mumbled.

Ben looked at him with big eyes, his had stopped breathing. He just stared at Martin, didn't know what to say.

"It's kind of complicated, I don't know where to start, Ben. Maybe it's best to start with the last few weeks," Martin muttered gently. He looked at Ben. "In the last few weeks we've been doing quite a lot together, we've been seeing each other every day and I've gotten to know you again, and what can I say, you've just made me fall in love with you. I've fallen head over heels in love with you," he almost whispered and looked into the shining eyes of Ben. "I've been thinking about that tonight, about my fast beating heart and the butterflies and that it feels like I've fallen in love with you all over again." Martin took a breath. "I found the answer pretty quickly. I have already been in love with you. It had immediately clicked with you in a friendly way all those years ago,... and every day, I fell in love with you more and more. I was insecure, confused, overchallenged and overwhelmed - and then this Freebatch thing had started. It made me feel even more confused and insecure. I wasn't sure if I was loving you or if I just believed I would but didn’t..., " Martin murmured.

Ben slowly put his hand on Martin's shoulder. 

"You were afraid that the fans had talked you into these feelings," Ben asked softly with a heart that felt like it was exploding over and over again.  
"Yes... and then I made it the truth," Martin muttered.  
"And now... now you realised what it really is?" Ben asked nervously.  
"Hmh,... I haven't fallen in love with you for the first time in the last few weeks,... I already was in love with you for a long time. I... I just suppressed my feelings for you due to fear. I was scared that my feelings aren’t real, that they are not my feelings;… I was afraid to hurt you. And I didn't want to hurt you. So, I said you were nothing more than a friend. Sorry,... it's all kind of messed up," Martin murmured.

Ben blinked with an exploding heart.  
His probably biggest wish could come true, which was actually even bigger than his wish to become a father. He already was a father, maybe he would now be able to fulfil his wish to be Martin’s partner, too.  
Ben shook his head.

"No no, I understand what happened," Ben said. "You fell in love with me; you were confused because of it; the fans and press kept talking about Freebatch, ... and you got the feeling that they were pushing you towards those feelings. You didn't want to hurt me, because you were afraid that you would hurt me if you would suddenly realise that it weren’t real and honest feelings, but the feelings you had been told to have. Now you didn't know anything about Freebatch and Johnlock or whatever; you didn’t know about the pictures and the stories, ... you couldn't recall it, ... and yet you fell in love, or you unconsciously realised that these feelings have been yours all the time,… and that nobody had been pushing you into it," Ben said with a heart that was still exploding over and over again.

Martin tilted his head.

"Hmm, ... yes. Probably not that complicated after all," he murmured.  
"I think we two have turned a simple thing into something very complicated over all these years," Ben said.  
"It really looks like it," Martin said, looking at Ben. 

They both rubbed their neck.  
They both cleared their throat, peering through the living room.  
And then they looked at each other again.

Martin bit his lower lip, then licked nervously across it.  
"Ben?" he asked.  
"Hmm?  
"What... what you told me back in May, is… is this still a thing?" Martin asked.  
Ben looked at him.  
"... Yes. Yes, it’s … it’s still up to date. Nothing has changed. I... I'm still in love with you."

They both bit their lower lip.  
They looked at each other.  
Their hearts did some somersaults; their bodies were warm; butterflies were dancing and giving them a warm, pleasant and euphoric feeling – it was rushing through their veins.  
They both ran their fingers through their hair.

It had been pronounced – the word of truth.


	29. Wish Fulfillment

_**\- Thursday, September/15 -2016, London, Hammersmith, Benedict’ house -** _

Silence.  
The truth had been told - the uncomplicated truth, which both of them had made more and more complicated over the past few years.  
They had made love incredibly complicated.  
They had complicated something that was absolutely simple.

Benedict loved Martin.  
Martin loved Benedict.

They ran their hand through their hair, rubbed their necks nervously.  
They lowered their arm, put their hand back on their thigh.  
The hands slid slowly closer to each other, were looking for each other - the little fingers found each other.  
They looked at each other, didn't move, didn’t say anything - they just let their heart beat wildly and excitedly.  
One could see them swallowing.  
The hands slid closer until they touched their fingers.  
They played with each other’s fingers, were watching each other.

They interlocked their fingers - loosely. 

But then they squeezed their fingers gently, placing their intertwined hands in Martin's lap, who still wore the fleece blanket around his shoulders.  
They sucked in the air - deeply.  
Their hearts were still racing.  
"Unfamiliar, isn't it?" Martin muttered.  
"Yes,... unfamiliar," Ben smiled.  
Martin smiled, too.  
"But it's lovely," he muttered. "I… I almost took your hand yesterday, you know, when we were strolling through the forest."  
Ben tilted his head; and with his thumb, he slowly started to caress the back of Martin's hand.  
"I would have loved to hold hands, too," Benedict admitted. He enjoyed Martin's hand, it felt so good in his own.  
"We are really quite complicated," Martin said with a smile; he enjoyed Benedict's caressing.  
Ben nodded.  
"We are,... we should stop being so complicated," Ben mumbled. "We've been complicated long enough."  
"Yes, ... we’ve been complicated long enough," Martin muttered; he looked down to Benedict's lips; just briefly.

Martin bit his lip while Benedict licked his lower lip as he noticed Martin's brief look.  
They looked into each other's eyes again, slipping a little closer.  
Benedict's left arm lay on the back of the sofa, his hand still on Martin's shoulder, which was covered by the blanket. He caressed his shoulder softly, let his thumb wander to Martin’s neck – caressing his neck gently. He saw Martin swallow.  
His heart was racing like crazy and he had to swallow, too.  
It was unbelievable what Martin had confessed a few minutes ago, what they had confessed to each other - their love for each other.  
And now, now he was actually already incredibly nervous just by holding hands with him.  
The thought of a kiss made his heart beat even faster – it was an overwhelming thought. He had imagined it so often, and now he was just nervous and overwhelmed, as if it was his very first kiss.  
He raised his hand, placed it on Martin's stubbly cheek.  
Martin tilted his head, his heart skipped a beat. He was craving a kiss with Ben; he was craving their first kiss – but he was incredibly nervous and overwhelmed by it.  
His free hand caressed from Benedict’s arm to Ben's shoulder, up his neck and into the hair at the back of the head - the fleece blanket slipped a little bit off his shoulder, showing Benedict's thick grey hoodie.

Benedict's eyes flitted to Martin's lips, they stayed there. His thumb caressed over Martin's lips, tenderly  
Martin swallowed and when he saw Benedict leaning down a little bit, he came closer with a fast beating heart. He closed his eyes more and more with every inch - and they were closed as Benedict's lips touched his.  
Martin's hand grabbed into Benedict's hair as he felt the soft, rough lips and the stubble of his beard. 

Their lips were only tenderly touching each other.  
They first brought their beating hearts to rest, enjoying the tingling in their tummies and the feeling of their lips.  
It was so new, so unfamiliar - and yet so pleasant, so good, so uncomplicated.

Benedict kissed Martin's lips once.

It was lovely.  
God, it was fantastic.

Ben tried to take his lips from Martin’s lips, but Martin just pushed him closer at the back of the head.  
"Don't... ", Martin muttered against Benedict's lips.  
Ben smiled against Martin’s lips now, who squeezed his hand.  
"Please, do it again," he whispered against Benedict's lips.

Ben smiled, he kissed Martin's lips again, before capturing his lips lovingly - and Martin joined in, returning the kiss tenderly.  
Benedict's hand lay on Martin's cheek, while Martin's hand was softly tousling through Benedict's hair.  
Their lips explored each other, danced with each other, tested what they liked.  
The kiss was gentle and loving and without any hesitation or passion.  
It was a kiss to get to know each other. 

Martin's teeth nibbled gently at Benedict's lips – Benedict’s sigh told him that he liked it.  
He felt Benedict's teeth, too - and Martin showed very clearly that he liked it too by purring like a cat.  
Martin's fingers scratched the back of Benedict's head, making him sigh again.

They slowly stopped the kiss, opened their eyes and looked at each other.  
They looked at each other, their eyes scurrying across the face of the other.  
They smiled at each other.

"It can be so simple," Martin murmured.  
"Then let's just get back to that simple thing," Ben smiled.  
"Impatient?" Martin winked.  
"Addicted," Ben flirted.  
"To what?" Martin asked charmingly.  
"Your lips," Ben flirted.  
Martin smiled lovingly.  
"This is not good, I'm addicted to yours, which means we can't get rid of this addiction ever again," Martin winked.  
"I can live with that," Ben smiled. He loosened his hands, took Martin’s face in both hands. "Now shut up, blabbermouth... ", Ben winked.

Martin smirked and put his free hand on Benedict's hip, stretched up a little bit, captured Benedict's lips and almost sighed from that alone. It was wonderful to feel those lips on his.  
Benedict held Martin's face in his hands; he had closed his eyes, enjoying the closeness to Martin and their kiss, which Martin was leading. He felt Martin's tongue on his lips; he was opening them willingly.

Their tongues touched each other, felt each other, played with each other – gently and tenderly. 

The butterflies in Benedict's belly tingled and danced - he slid even closer towards Martin, purring.  
Martin's hand in Benedict's hair grabbed it more and more; he sighed and let his hand slip under Benedict’s jacket, feeling the polo shirt.

Their tongues danced, were exploring each other carefully and tenderly, a little shy. 

Benedict sighed into the kiss - the French kiss was just beautiful.  
He enjoyed that Martin kissed him gently and tenderly, that it wasn’t about passion right now but about love and sweetness.  
He had imagined a kiss from him a lot of times, but nothing had felt as good as it felt in real life – Jesus, even that shy and sweet kiss made his belly tingly wildly.  
He would probably die from a heart attack if Martin would kiss him passionately.  
He even was having a tingling belly, a fast beating heart and weak knees when he watched Martin kiss, when he watched Martin’s kissing scenes - like the kiss scene in the series ‘StartUp’.

A few minutes later, they were gasping for air.  
Martin let his hand wander beneath Benedict's polo shirt – he felt goose bumps. His fingers caressed Benedict's soft skin, made him shiver pleasantly.  
Martin smiled.  
Benedict sighed.

"I haven't kissed a man privately for an incredibly long time,... the last time was in the early 2000s," Martin admitted.  
"My last kiss with a man... privately, was in 2002," Ben smiled.  
"It's quite wonderful to kiss a man," Martin whispered and looked into Benedict's eyes.  
"I couldn't agree more with you," Ben beamed. He ran his hand through Martin's soft hair. "Is… is this a ‘we’?" Ben asked.  
Martin smiled; he crawled Benedict's soft skin as his other hand played in Ben’s hair.  
"I would like it very much if this would be a ‘we’," Martin smiled with bright blue eyes.  
"I'd like it very much too," Ben smiled with bright blue eyes, as well.  
"Then it is a ‘we’, Ben," Martin whispered lovingly, caressing Ben's hair as he still caressed his soft skin, too.  
They both smiled gently at each other.

Their hearts were beating hard against their ribcage.  
The tummy was tingling.  
And they both looked at each other with a slightly shy look.

"It's... it's a funny feeling, isn't it? Even though we both want it, it's weird and unfamiliar, strange and overwhelming," Ben muttered shyly.  
Martin nodded.  
"Yes... it's very overwhelming and strange. But I've had that feeling quite often during the last few weeks, even though everything isn't overwhelming and strange any more; except this. This is new and unfamiliar, this with you,… this with us... what's new with us," Martin beamed.  
Ben smiled, nodded and ran his hand gently through Martin's hair again, closing his eyes.  
"I would like to find out more about what you like," Ben mumbled.  
"I'd like that quite a lot," Martin smiled and slid a little closer to Ben, he was already half sitting on Benedict's lap.

Martin scratched his fingernails gently over Benedict's soft skin, who shivered pleasantly again, who smiled again, who had raised an eyebrow charmingly.  
He captured Martin's lips longingly, heard Martin purr.

This was more than just a wish that was fulfilled.


	30. Pleasure

_**\- Thursday, September/15 -2016, London, Hammersmith, Benedict’s house** _

In the living room one could hear Benedict's purrs and sighs as Martin ran his hand through his hair. The hand caressed slowly and gently, tenderly and lovingly through the short hair. 

Martin enjoyed the feeling of the soft hair, of the soft strands - even if the hair was quite short.  
The memory of Benedict and his Sherlock curls was back - he knew Benedict didn't like the curls, was actually always quite happy when he could cut his hair again, but Martin quite liked these curls as every other hairstyle Benedict had had so far. But right now, he would’ve loved to caresses through these curls, to play with these curls.  
Martin's fingers began to play with each strand; he smiled at Benedict, who opened his eyes.

Benedict tilted his head; he looked quite pleased and happy - and his look betrayed how much he enjoyed the play in his hair.  
His eyes shone dreamily and his eyelids fluttered up and down again and again.  
Actually he wanted to look at Martin but at the same time it was hardly possible; Martin’s soft play was just too beautiful and pleasant to keep his eyes open for a long time. He loved it when someone played with his hair, or ran through it; and he loved it when someone pulled his hair - he could just love and enjoy it, and it could heat him up and seduce him quite a lot if he wanted it.  
Right now he just wanted to love and enjoy it.  
He purred again – wasn’t ashamed of his constant purring and sighing; Martin hadn't been any better in the last minutes, in the last hour that had passed since their first kiss.

Martin bowed his head, watching Benedict, who had closed his eyes again.  
He smiled, letting his hand slowly move out of Benedict's hair, who couldn't help but sigh grumpily.  
He smirked, put his hand on Benedict's cheek. He stretched a little towards Benedict, kissed his lips once.

Ben smiled into the kiss, put his arms around Martin and pulled him closer.

They opened their eyes after the soft kiss, looking at each other.  
Martin winked gently.  
"That was lovely, Martin," Ben smiled with pleasure.  
"I heard that," Martin winked again.  
Ben smiled.  
"I've even hold back a bit of my purring and sighing."  
"You don't have to hold back anything," Martin smiled. "It just shows me how much you like and enjoy what I am doing."  
Ben nodded and smiled.  
"Then I would have purred the whole time."  
"That's actually the wrong sound, you are an otter and not a cute little cat," Martin grinned cheekily.  
Ben laughed, rubbing Martin's back.  
"What kind of noise do they make?"  
Martin shrugged his shoulders, grinning.  
"I don't know."  
Ben grinned at him.  
"Until one of us figures out what sound they make, I'm just gonna keep purring."  
"Agreed," Martin grinned.

They grinned at each other until their grin turned into a smile.

Benedict was almost sitting cross-legged on the sofa, had turned around to Martin, the rest of the sofa was behind him. He leaned back slowly, pulled a puzzled looking Martin with him until they were both lying on the sofa.  
Benedict lay on his back, slowly stretching out his legs beneath Martin's body.  
Martin slipped between Benedict's legs; he lay on his stomach, looking down at Ben. From this perspective, he was finally as tall as Benedict – well, their lying position had simply compensated the difference in height, to be precise. 

Martin supported himself on one hand next to Benedict's head; he looked at Ben with a smile, closed his eyes briefly – he just wanted to concentrate on Benedict's body and how it felt beneath his own body. 

It was a nice feeling and it was comfortable - and probably it would be even more comfortable if he wouldn’t support himself anymore.  
Benedict's body was warm and one could feel that he was still well trained due to Doctor Strange. He hadn't cuddled with a man for a long time, or let a man get close to him like this in general, and only now did he realise how much he had missed this in the last years. His memories told him something else, not only that he had generally missed cuddling a man like this and to be this close to a man - he had very often wished to be that close to Ben, even though he hadn't really admitted it to himself and had repeatedly devalued his feelings; right now his heart was telling him how long he had been longing this - with Ben.  
He dropped, laid down on Benedict; he kept his eyes closed.  
He cuddled his face against the crook of Benedict's neck, ran his hand into Benedict's hair on the side of his head. He had been absolutely right in his assumption – like this it was much more comfortable. He breathed in Benedict's scent and his perfume.  
This man smelled outrageously good.  
He could feel Benedict's pulse beating pretty fast, just like the heart was beating fast against his own chest, and he himself sent the same vibration back into Benedict's chest.  
It felt so good to be this close to Benedict in that way, and now he was really angry with himself, that he once again had just thought too much - sometimes he should just think less and stop analysing everything a thousand times. 

Benedict put his arms around Martin's body.  
He put one hand on Martin's lower back, the other one on Martin's left shoulder blade - and with the fingers of this hand he crawled gently up to Martin's neck.  
He could feel the vibration of Martin's purrs as well as the fast heartbeat in his chest.  
It had always felt great holding Martin in his arms - and thank goodness they both liked hugging a lot. Whenever they saw each other, they hugged each other - as a greeting and goodbye; sometimes also in between, especially during the shooting for Sherlock (when successfully finishing the shooting, to cheer each other up, when fooling around , and so on ). And Martin hadn’t wasted many other opportunities to touch him. As often as he had raved about Martin in interviews, as often Martin had used the opportunity to touch him at every occasion.  
Knowing that this was now so much more than a friendly gesture; knowing that Martin belonged to him made the cuddling and hugging even better.  
His fingers crawled Martin's neck, who shivered pleasantly and cuddled against him even more. 

Martin’s eyes were still closed; he took a deep breath - that's exactly how he could lie here the rest of the night.  
And when he felt Benedict's hand moving slowly from his lower back to his butt, he corrected himself his thought. He could lie here until tomorrow evening.  
His heart raced even more due to Benedict's hand.  
It wasn't the first time he felt Benedict’s hand on his bum. It had been one of the first memories that had come back; Benedict, and how he pinched his bum at the Hobbit premiere while he was giving an interview. But today was different. Today, the whole hand was lying on his bum; Benedict's big hand with these filigree fingers that gently caressed him. He could feel the goose bumps spreading across his body. 

He muttered against Ben's neck.  
"That's nice."  
Ben smiled, caressed and crawled Martin’s bum - he had planned something else and he would try it now, should Martin not like it, he could still continue caressing Martin's luscious butt.  
His hand slowly caressed to the hem of the hoodie; he lifted it up and let his hand slip beneath it.  
He put his fingers on the warm naked skin, heard Martin sighing.  
"Hmm. I can't decide which is better right now."  
Ben smiled.  
"I've two hands," he muttered.  
He caressed down Martin's back with his second hand, laid it on his bum and let his fingers gently and tenderly caress it.

Martin swallowed, pressed his face against Benedict's neck.  
Damn, it felt forbidden good - and yet it were just 10 fingers gently caressing him.  
Five on his bare back.  
Five on his bum.  
He shivered in pleasure.  
He loosened the hug a little bit, lifted his head a bit and looked at Benedict with a pleasantly dreamy look.

Benedict smiled at him.  
"Do you need more caresses?"  
"What else can you offer?", Martin whispered.  
"Right now, I can offer my lips; my hands are busy," Ben smiled with a wink. Beneath his fingertips he could feel Martin's goose bumps on the back.  
Martin smiled satisfied.  
"I am more than happy with your lips. Kissing you is great."  
Ben nodded with a smile.  
"It absolutely is - and it has completely exceeded my expectations of the last five years."  
"Thank goodness I was able to convince you with my kissing skills after making you wait that long," Martin smiled charmingly with a gentle wink.  
Ben smiled broadly.  
"It was worth waiting for you."  
Martin’s blue eyes beamed at him. 

He looked at Ben's face, bent down slowly, closed his eyes and kissed Benedict's lips - he kissed him tenderly and sweetly.  
Benedict sighed, captured Martin’s lips as the grey-haired man wanted to stop kissing him. He kissed him sweetly, he kissed him lovingly, he kissed him softly.  
Martin was wax in Benedict's hands. He didn't know what he enjoyed more, what he should concentrate on - whether it was the hand and the caressing fingers on his back, whether it was the hand and the caressing fingers on his bum, or those sensual and luscious lips.  
He still had goose bumps, purred into the kiss.  
Benedict sucked at Martin's lips, then gently nibbled at his lower lip. He squeezed Martin's right buttock, grabbed it tightly and when he freed Martin's lip he heard him moan with a soft voice. 

Their lips met again for a kiss.  
Martin's hand gently grabbed Benedict's hair, pulling at it.  
Hungrily their tongues tasted each other.  
Benedict pressed Martin onto his body while Martin kept pulling at Ben's hair.

Both men enjoyed it with pleasure.

They enjoyed the first kisses, the first real physical contact, the warmth and closeness of the other. They enjoyed exploring each other and discovering the things the other one liked.

Benedict bit softly into Martin’s lower lip as he ended the kiss.  
He filled his lungs with air again.  
Martin gasped and breathed another kiss on Benedict’s lips.  
He kissed the lips sweetly again.

Ben smiled – another breathy kiss on his lips and when he started to smile even more, a fourth kiss was breathed onto his lips.

Martin's eyes were sparkling down to Benedict, whose green-blue eyes also sparkled up to him.

Benedict could hardly believe that he finally had what he had wished for – Martin; Martin as his partner, Martin at his side.  
When he had finally admitted to himself that he had hopelessly fallen in love with Martin, he had felt that Martin was this one person he had always been waiting for.  
In no other relationship had he felt what he was feeling for Martin.  
But from the very first meeting, at the first early rehearsals for Sherlock, he had realised that Martin was special - he had immediately felt incredibly comfortable around him and with him, safe and simply good. Martin just had the gift of making him feel incredibly good in no time, of cheering him and comforting him, of making him laugh and forget everything else, of suppressing everything bad and stressful for a moment.  
They were quite different when it came to their personalities, but that was exactly what made him feel extremely comfortable around Martin - he completed him. 

They had needed to get to know each other again - but now they were able to enjoy what they had wanted for such a long time.


	31. Sensuous Desire

_**\- Friday, September/16 - 2016, London, Hammersmith, Benedict’s house -** _

The floor lamp, which was standing next to Benedict's sofa was switched on - it illuminated the room with a pleasant diffuse light.

It was shortly after midnight - the curtains were drawn.  
On the coffee table was an empty bottle of red wine, and two empty wine glasses next to the almost empty box of chocolates; soft and calm jazz music was playing in the background. 

Benedict and Martin had spent the time with each other - mainly on the couch.  
All these years they hadn’t been able to share this kind of closeness and touches with each other.  
Benedict - because he had thought he would never ever have a chance with Martin; then he had been with Sophie, and after the break up and his confession, he had received the expected rejection from Martin.  
Martin - because he had become very insecure about his own feelings, because he had lived another truth; just because he hadn’t been able to tell what he really felt any longer by thinking too much about the fans and Freebatch.  
So, they had used this evening and night to catch up a little bit of what they had missed for a very long time.  
It had been unfamiliar, after years of close and deep friendship; it had been unfamiliar to be very close and intimate on a completely different level - all of a sudden. They had enjoyed it, had enjoyed it to the fullest, had even dared to try more intimate touches and kisses - and yet it was an unfamiliar and a very new feeling with every touch and kiss.  
During every step they had made, they had been quite shy at the beginning – they had tested and experimented very slowly and shyly before they had felt more and more secure and self-confident about it.

Martin had enjoyed the evening and the night with Ben quite a lot, but he had also enjoyed sitting in the rain for a bit more than two hours - now that he remembered that they haven’t been able to spent much time with each other during their friendship, he felt annoyed and upset about it – he was disappointed in himself, was angry and grumpy with himself. Why hadn’t he tried to spend more time with Ben, privately; why hadn’t he called him more often, at least for five minutes; why hadn’t he send more text messages. It was absolutely true, that they didn't have that much time and that they had to use this time for themselves, for other friends and their family - but in retrospect he could have made more out of his free time; just texting him here and there, just calling him for two minutes, just coming over for a lovely cup of tea and some small-talk.  
You should use the time you have for things you like and love – it wasn’t about the quantity it was about the quality. He had just experienced how quickly everything could slip completely out of your hands, how quickly life could be over.  
Realising all this had made him enjoy the time with Ben even more - not only in the last few hours but also in the last few weeks.  
Still, it felt different today than in the weeks before, when he couldn't remember anything from the last 16 years; nevertheless, he knew that there were still major gaps in his memory, but these gaps were filled constantly and steadily.  
They had cuddled with each other, caressed each other, snuggled with each other, kissed each other; they had talked, laughed and fooled around; and they had even watched a film, but had switched to music a while ago. And while talking, kissing, snuggling, caressing and cuddling in the middle of the night, they had emptied a bottle of wine and almost a box of chocolate.

The two men were still in the living room.  
They sat next to each other on the comfortable sofa.

Martin’s right hand lay under Benedict's polo shirt, the fingertips were crawling Benedict’s back, his left hand was buried in Benedict's short hair. The lips were enjoying Benedict’s lips, who was kissing him tenderly, who was making him forget everything, who was kissing away the headaches he had because of his flashbacks and too less sleep; this kiss made forget him how exhausting all those recurring memories were, how much they hurt him emotionally and mentally, as well as the thought that he had been dead several times.  
The tender kiss gave his head a rest.

Benedict's hands caressed across Martin’s hips, sides and onto his chest.  
He deepened the kiss while his fingertips breathed over Martin's Adam's apple, while hearing Martin's soft moan.  
The hand slid down, slipped under the too big sweater; he pushed it up a bit, waiting for a reaction. But Martin only deepened the kiss, which caused Ben to push the sweater up even further.  
He could feel Martin sliding a little closer, slowly raising his arms. He slowly freed Martin’s soft, warm and slightly rough lips, stopped his very tender French kiss.  
His hands pushed the sweater over Martin's head, dropping it to the floor before he breathed his fingers over Martin's naked tummy, who shivered pleasantly, immediately.  
Ben let his fingertips wander across Martins naked upper body, caressing the tummy, caressing the sternum, caressing across his chest and to his shoulders - he had been able to feel a little bit of chest hair under his fingers. 

Martin had lowered his arms, had laid his hands on Benedict's shoulders.  
He kept his eyes closed, enjoyed Benedict's tender breathing touches. He could feel the goose bumps on his upper body, also felt Ben’s lips resting on his again. 

Ben sighed into the kiss with Martin, let his fingers wander onto Martin's back, scratched down softly with his fingernails – more goose bumps, another pleasant shiver, a long and deep warm purr of Martin.  
His hands caressed to Martin's shoulders, massaged them softly, rubbed back to Martin’s chest - his thumbs rubbed courageously across Martin's nipples.  
He felt Martin's teeth, which bit his lower lip with arousal; he heard Martin's hoarse moan afterwards.  
To hear this man speak was already music in his ears, to hear him laugh was even better, but to hear him moan and purr and sigh excitedly was beyond anything. 

They both opened their eyes, looked each other breathlessly in the eyes.  
Both pairs of eyes sparkled with excitement, arousal, pleasure and enjoyment.

Martin began to smile, rubbed Benedict's chest, rubbed Benedict’s flat tummy. He put his hands underneath Ben’s polo-shirt, pushed it up and up and up, until Ben raised his arms.  
Shortly afterwards it sailed to the ground.  
Martin's hands lay on Benedict's well-trained upper body, they rubbed and caressed over the chest; his eyes also examined this damn hot body for a brief moment – he glanced at Ben's naked upper body - Dr. Strange had done this upper body unbelievably well; he licked his lips with relish, he loved what he was seeing.  
His eyes flitted up to Ben’ eyes again.

They smiled at each other.

Martin leaned forward again, put his lips on Benedict's neck.  
He kissed Benedict's neck tenderly, nibbled at it with his teeth, sucked gently at the delicious neck. He absorbed Benedict's scent, couldn't help but lick a moist trail to Ben’s ear. He gently bit Ben’s earlobe, kissed it gently afterwards.  
Benedict rolled his eyes behind closed lids – with pleasure and satisfaction. Goose bumps were everywhere and he moaned aroused and deep.  
Martin's hands caressed and rubbed across Benedict's naked torso while he kissed the neck and ear. The hands wandered downwards to Ben’ trousers, rubbed the thigh. 

Benedict tilted his head and stretched his neck to give Martin an even better access and more space for his kisses and bites. His hands caressed Martin's chest, his thumbs rubbed across Martin's hard nipples. This time he didn’t hear Martin moan, but he felt an excited and aroused bite on his neck, which made him groan.  
His hand wandered to Martin’s tummy, wandered to Martin’s thigh – and then it rubbed across Martin’s crotch; with pressure. Another bite, then the lips and teeth stopped their play as Martin was groaning and moaning with arousal.  
And shortly after these incredible seductive sounds, Martin’s hand rubbed across his crotch, too – teasingly, seductive and with pressure.

Ben moaned deeply.  
Ben moaned disappointedly.

The hand had felt amazing, and now it was gone again.  
He looked at Martin who winked and stood up - he didn't like that.  
He looked up with dark and dilated pupils; he was aroused and he couldn’t figure out why Martin had stood up.  
Martin stood in front of him; his eyes dilated and dark, too; he stood in front of him with a naked upper body, and the sweatpants showed very clearly that he was aroused.

Martin reached down his hand.  
"The sofa is too uncomfortable for what is happening here right now, at least for the first night," Martin whispered.  
Ben smiled, put his hand in Martin's and stood up with Martin’s help.  
That was the perfect end to the evening - not that he had just wanted it to end like this,… but he hadn't had sex for quite a while, at least not with another person,… and he had waited incredibly long for exactly this.  
He had imagined it so often, and now he finally wanted to know what it really felt like.  
Not to mention that the thought of having sex with a man again turned him on quite a lot at the moment, especially because this man wasn’t just any man, but Martin – and everything they had shared so far had felt breathtakingly awesome.  
Martin smiled charmingly.  
"I'll just invite myself into your bed now, ... but I think you're quite comfortable with that," he winked very charmingly and seductively; he grabbed Benedict's butt, massaged it for a brief moment, before his hand wandered to Ben’s crotch – he gently squeezed and rubbed the bulge.  
Ben rolled his eyes, moaned, swallowed, licked his lips.  
He looked at Martin with aroused and impatient dreamy eyes.  
"That's absolutely fine with me," Ben whispered with a pleasurable moan. 

The sound system was switched off, the light was switched off shortly afterwards, and then both men walked upstairs and disappeared into Benedict's bedroom.  
The light by the bed was switched on, even though the sun would probably rise very soon. 

They looked at each other - they both looked very impatient.

Martin fiddled at Benedict's belt, unbuttoned the trousers, let them sail down Ben’s legs, who stepped out of them and pushed down the sweatpants Martin was wearing.  
As they toddled towards the bed, they got rid of their socks, too.  
Benedict put his arms around Martin, pulled him closer, laid his hands onto his boxer briefs covered bum and hungrily captured Martin’s lips. He forced him to the bed, pushed him into it – since Martin was hugging him around the neck, he was pulled into the bed, too.

Benedict lay on Martin's body; he supported himself on his forearms, was still kissing this gorgeous man hungrily and longingly - and his kiss was reciprocated demandingly. He felt Martin's hands massaging his back down to his boxer briefs.  
He purred into the kiss as soon as he felt Martin’s hands slip into his boxers.  
Martin felt the warm and soft skin under his hands and fingertips, purred and sighed, and massaged Benedict’s butt.  
Their kiss became more passionate, a little wilder, as Martin's hands pushed down the last piece of clothing Benedict was wearing. 

Their kiss stopped for a moment.  
They looked at each other, breathing heavily. 

Benedict’s fingers breathed over Martin’s heated skin – they caressed their way to the hem of Martin’s black boxer briefs; he slowly shoved them down, more and more.  
And he threw them away.  
Ben looked down at Martin who lay on the blanket, aroused and excited.  
Lips swollen from kissing, cheeks red, the grey hair all messed up, chest rising and falling quickly, the blue eyes begging, pleading.  
He saw a slightly muscular body, a small almost flat belly and Martin's huge erection.  
What a fantastic picture.

Benedict blinked, licked his lips and looked up – and he just licked his lips again.  
Martin had examined Benedict as well – he also licked his lips, very pleased with what he had looked at..

"Could we skip the exploring and discovering part? Could we skip the foreplay?" Ben asked impatiently.  
"I think I'd really enjoy to explore and discover your body and be explored by your lips and teeth and tongue and hands and fingers. I think I’d really love a very long foreplay - but to be honest I'd need a bit of self-control for this and it's currently at minus 100 percent.” He said charmingly, revealing that he was pretty impatient right now. “It would be great if we could just skip being shy,” Martin whispered and let his fingers draw soft lines from Ben’s chest down to his stomach. "As unfamiliar as all this is and as much as it makes me shy,... now I don't have time to be shy anymore,... I'm too busy being extremely aroused because of you," Martin whispered.  
Ben looked down at him, closing his eyes briefly as Martin draw his soft lines. His heart was racing faster.  
"I have no self-control anymore either, I am far too impatient and excited, right now," Ben purred hoarsely.  
Martin smiled; his fingers and hands wandered to Ben’s neck and the back of his head – he pressed him down, kissed his lips briefly.  
"Then let's get the most important things straight," he whispered against Ben's lips, nibbled at them briefly; he moved his hips, felt Ben’s erection at his own. They both moaned and closed their eyes. "I've just had a check-up, we don't need a condom because of me," he kissed Ben's lips, who mumbled and nodded. "And I don't care about top or bottom, I love both positions quite a lot."  
Ben pressed his lips onto Martin's for a brief but passionate kiss.  
"The same goes for me," he muttered against Martin's lips.

They smiled, giving each other an Eskimo kiss.

"Can you... " they both began.  
"...stay like that," they both finished.

They smiled at each other, smirked and grinned.

Martin ran his hand through Benedict's hair with a fast beating heart. He moved his hips again, felt Ben’s throbbing erection against his own pulsating erection.

"Your hands need to be somewhere else – precisely, they should be busy with my cock and ass; just in case you've forgotten what to do, or in case you've forgotten how impatient and aroused I am, or in case you've forgotten that I have no self-control anymore," Martin winked with a charming warm and seductive voice.  
Ben winked, too.  
"Oh, before they will pleasure your cock and ass they need to get something out of the bedside table,” Ben said with a deep and dark seducing voice.

It wasn't long before the bedroom was filled with deep groans and purring.  
Martin had tugged up his legs, clawed the bedspread with one hand and hold on to Benedict's hair with the other. He had opened his mouth slightly, tolling his eyes with relish as Benedict's deft filigree fingers slid in and out of his butthole - three fingers. And in addition, he could feel Benedict's sucking on his Adam's apple. He pressed the head into the mattress - moaning uncontrollably and quite loudly.  
He had first tried to hold it back a little, but Ben made it impossible. And as soon as the first finger had slipped in, he had simply turned off his head and given himself completely to Ben - he was loud during sex, why should he hide that from Ben?  
He was arching his back.  
Amazingly, he seemed to have some self-control left after all, otherwise he would have reached his orgasm long ago since Benedict's lubricated fingers felt just wonderful and kept rubbing his prostate.  
Why had he actually given up this kind of sex for such a long time?

Ben enjoyed the loud and uncontrollably moaning of Martin, it showed him how much this man enjoyed his caresses. And it just sounded outrageously sexy to hear him moaning. This sound alone made him even hornier.  
Martin's hand slipped out of his hair, across his back, down to his butt - Martin pushed him closer, wanted more.  
Ben purred and sighed.  
He distributed little kisses on Martin's neck as Martin's hand was grabbing his buttocks - he searched blindly for the lube until he found it.

Ben let his fingers slide out; he looked at Martin who had sighed and groaned in disappointment.  
He watched the man in his bed with a racing heart and tingling stomach - this would be the best first night of his life. 

Martin was eyeing him and the left hand disappeared between their bodies as soon as Ben had lubricated his cock.  
Ben closed his eyes, moaned. 

Martin had wrapped his hand around Ben's throbbing and lubricated erection, stroking it softly and slowly, teasingly - the thumb rubbed across the pre-cum covered tip.  
Ben bit into his lip, swallowed - he enjoyed every second of Martin's sensual and teasing caresses.

Their eyes were black as they were looking at each other - excitedly and lustfully, passionately and hungrily, sensually and with desire.  
They were definitely at the end of their patience and self-control. 

Benedict's left arm slipped under Martin's shoulder, the right hand supported itself next to Martin's head.  
Martin wrapped his legs around Benedict's hips, pushing him closer. He closed his eyes in delightful anticipation.  
If Benedict was only half as good as he was with his fingers, this would be absolutely perfect.

They both moaned again and again as Benedict's cock nudged at Martin's entrance, as Benedict's cock slid in deeper and deeper.

"Fuck Ben," Martin purred as Benedict was moving slowly and sensually. "Please don't hold back anything," he moaned as he joined Ben's slow and sensual rhythm longingly and with relish.

Benedict's heart raced and pounded a little faster again; he captured Martin's lips, kissed him lovingly and passionately.  
His right hand wandered to Martin's hand, grabbed it, squeezed it, intertwined their fingers.  
He felt Martin squeeze his hand, clinging to it; he heard Martin moaning into the kiss; he felt him joining the kiss, felt Martin's other hand on his naked butt, one finger was flirtatious slipping between his buttocks.

Martin's teasing finger made Ben's thrusts more passionate, and he joined that rhythm with pleasure.  
His finger rubbed across Ben's rim muscle as his other hand hold on to Benedict's hand.

They released the kiss as Martin's slightly lubricated finger slowly slipped into Ben's puckering hole.

Ben sucked in the air sharply, gasped and groaned deeply and with pure pleasure.  
Feeling Martin like that was fantastic, not only the tightness around his erection was unbelievably amazing, but also the feeling of Martin's finger - he moaned indignantly - correction, the feeling of his two fingers.  
Martin's moans and groan, the sighs and purrs made his belly tingle - it was fantastic to know that he was the one eliciting these sounds from Martin.

"Kiss me," Martin breathed breathlessly, half moaning and half purring - it had been much more of a loving request than a commanding order.

Their rhythm was passionate, somewhat raw, intense.  
Their kiss was the complete opposite; it was tender, full of love, desire and sensuality.

Exploring every millimetre of the other one after that gobsmacking sex would be fantastic.


	32. The Simple

_**\- Friday, September/16 -2016, lunchtime, London, Hammersmith, Benedict’s house -** _

It was already lunchtime, but Martin and Benedict were still lying in bed - which was probably because they had been awake all night.  
After having sex with each other for the very first time, they had enjoyed a quick shower and then they had gone to bed to actually sleep - naked and with damp hair.

They were both lying on their sides; Benedict's back against Martin's chest, who had wrapped his arms around Benedict's body, shoving one leg between Ben's.

Martin had already woken up from his very short nap, his nose was buried in Benedict's hair. He breathed in the smell of Benedict’s hair, placed a kiss on the neck.  
For the first time since the accident, he felt really good – he felt extremely happy, extremely calm and relaxed, just extremely good. It was as if yesterday's confession had taken a huge amount of weight off him.  
Of course, not all the memories had come back yet, some had come back not as detailed as they once were, and the knowledge about the resuscitations was still in his mind, but it didn't leave him behind with depressed, anxious and panicky thoughts anymore.  
Here in his arms lay a man who calmed him down, who would help and support him no matter what, and who loved him dearly, truthfully and intensely.  
He placed another kiss on Benedict's neck, and breathed in the smell of Benedict's hair once again.

Finally they had solved this complicated thing, finally they had made it easy after they both had made a mistake.  
Benedict had thrown himself into a relationship, driven by his desire to be a father, driven by the lack of openness towards Martin, driven by the thought that Martin would never love him romantically.  
Martin had catapulted himself into an illusory world, driven by sudden feelings for his best friend, driven by images and stories from fans and the press, driven by his own twisted thoughts and his own insecurities.

It had been so easy right from the beginning.  
They both loved each other – it had always been as simple as that.

His hand caressed Benedict's flat stomach, his fingers caressed along the warm skin, and his lips placed another kiss on the back of Benedict's neck.  
He sighed.  
The night, the first touches, the first kisses and the sex had been immensely great.  
He had enjoyed the first kisses, the first caresses, the first soft touches.  
And he had enjoyed the sex, too, even though they hadn't spent much time with soft and sweet explorations - the urge for this kind of closeness had been too strong.  
In other words, they had both been too horny.

He would simply stop Ben every time this man would want to stand up. He would make up for the lack of softness and sweetness. He would just explore this great and fantastic body all day, every millimetre of it, and when he was done with it, he would put himself in Benedict's hands and let him explore every millimetre of his body.  
Why should they get up today - neither of them had anything planned, so they could make the most of the rest of the day here in bed.  
Exploring, kissing, hugging, snuggling, caressing, cuddling and having soft and sweet sex.

He gently bit into Benedict’s neck, then breathed several little and sweet kisses on the spot, rubbed his nose through Benedict's hair.  
And then he heard Benedict sighing and purring.  
"Hmm Martin,…" the sleepy voice murmured.  
"Morning Benny," Martin's voice whispered.  
Ben smiled, stretched his body a little bit and then he turned around in Martin's soft and gentle hug.

Benedict's eyes sparkled tiredly at Martin. He raised his hand and ran it through Martin’s fluffy and tousled grey hair.  
"You look like a burst sofa pillow," Ben grinned tiredly. "Cute…"  
Martin closed his eyes for a few moments before he raised his hand and ran it through Benedict's hair.  
"We're not talking about who looks like what," Martin grinned.  
"That bad?", Ben asked him smilingly about the status of his hairstyle.  
"Inappropriate for a red carpet event, but very welcome after just waking up from your little nap," Martin smiled, who liked the tired look and tousled hair of Benedict very much.  
Ben smiled, slipped a little closer and breathed a first kiss on Martin's lips.  
"It wouldn't have been so bad if we hadn't gone to bed with damp hair."  
"Hmm, I like it anyway," Martin smiled and also gave Benedict a kiss on the lips.  
"I like sleepy and tousled Martin in my bed, too," Ben breathed and whispered, caressing Martin's hair. "Did you sleep well?" he asked softly.  
"Good... very good indeed. Immensely good for the first time since the accident, even so it were just a few hours."  
"That's good to hear," Ben smiled and let his fingers run down Martin's neck and Adam’s Apple. "I've just decided that you're not allowed to get out of bed today." 

Martin felt the spreading goose bumps, smiled even wider.  
"I decided that for you while you were still sleeping. I'm not letting you out of this bed today."  
Ben smiled and pushed the blanket off Martin's upper body to let his fingertips run over the naked upper arm.  
"Oh, why am I not allowed to get up?"  
Martin's fingertips crawled down Benedict's neck and spine.  
"We need to catch up with a few things," Martin whispered. "Since we were in a hurry last night or to be precise in the early morning, we have a lot to explore right now," he purred. "I hope that's why I'm not allowed to leave the bed either."  
Benedict shivered pleasantly, ran his fingers across Martin's chest.  
"Hmh, that's exactly why you have to stay in bed – to let me explore every millimetre of your body with my lips, tongue, teeth and fingers," Ben whispered flirtatiously in a dark and deep voice.

Martin shivered pleasantly, not only from Benedict's fingertips, but especially because of this murmuring, flirting and deep voice.  
Even if he didn't feel like doing all the exploring and sex, Benedict would have seduced him to do it now with this incredible voice.  
Benedict supported himself on his forearm; he bent down and whispered something into Martin's ear.  
"I have the feeling that you could get into serious trouble because of my voice," he whispered and flirted.  
And Martin shivered pleasantly again.  
"Dangerous weapon," Martin purred.

Benedict's lips kissed Martin's ear gently; they softly touched Martin’s ear, neck and jaw; they kissed the chin, then captured Martin's lips, who was melting away.  
He had already shown him what he was able to do with him with his damn seductively hands, had already shown him that he was very good at playing the dominant part - and with that and this incredible voice, Ben would be able to wrap him around his finger in no time.  
He would be powerless against it.

Benedict kissed him, entangled him in a loving good morning kiss, which made Martin sigh into the kiss, which made Martin run his hands through Ben’s hair.  
Martin just enjoyed the kiss, reciprocated it just as lovingly as he was kissed.  
Ben slowly stopped his loving good morning kiss, breathed a little kiss on Martin’s lips, then leaned his forehead against Martin’s, smiling down at him.  
Martin slowly opened his eyes again, gazing into two light blue lakes that gleamed at him lovingly.

Martin's lips gave him a similarly big smile.  
"It was absolutely worth waiting for you in the rain," Martin breathed.  
Benedict smiled, rolled through the bed with Martin until he lay on his back and Martin on top of him.  
"My quick look at your cute bum in the bathroom was worth it, too," Ben smiled.  
Martin looked down at Ben and found himself on a Strange-and-Sherlock trained warm body. He had to smile, he had to smirk and grin, he even laughed.  
"How long did you stand there looking at my ass?"  
"Not long. It wasn't until I walked out. Then I couldn't resist," Ben grinned broadly.  
"Did you see anything at all?" Martin grinned.  
"Not much, because of all the steam," he grinned, and let his hands wander to Martin's butt. "But what I was able see looked as cute and luscious as it feels in my hands." He squeezed Martin’s butt gently.  
Martin purred, bent down and kissed Benedict's lips.  
"A shame you didn’t ask if you could join me. But in the end it was much better that we talked about all this, about my feelings and what I have wanted to tell you, about your feelings and what we both want." He ran his hand through Benedict's hair, kissed his forehead. "Have you never felt insecure about all these pictures and stories and babbling of the fans?"

Ben ran his hands across Martin's back, gently massaged his shoulders.  
"Not really, or well, it affected me differently. I'd just admitted to myself that I'd fallen in love with you. I knew it wasn’t good to fall in love with your best friend. There was the fear of losing you, that's why I hadn't said anything for years - but what could I do about it? That's the way it was. And I just couldn't get away from you – I couldn’t stop loving you. I was flattered by the pictures and the stories, but it was uncomfortable to read them or to look at these pictures, because I have wanted it to be reality and not just fiction. I haven’t wanted to see or read it and keep reminding myself that I can't have it. I was lovesick. It was like this before Sophie, ... and it was the same with Sophie. Every time I was asked about it, I was reminded that I was apparently still not over you.”  
Martin tilted his head, closed his eyes again and again for a short moment as the massage was just lovely.  
"I was jealous of Sophie," Martin admitted. "I was incredibly jealous of her. Because she had what I unconsciously wanted more than anything else. You. Sophie is a nice and great woman; but I was worried about the two of you as a couple because I had noticed that you weren't really happy in the relationship, that she didn't make you happy the way you want to be happy. It bothered me and made me jealous, although I had convinced myself that I didn't love you. I couldn't be happy for you because she didn't make you truthfully happy, but rather stiff and… I don't know, it just didn't fit," he admitted. "I needed to say something, not because of my own feelings, but because you were my friend. I couldn't even be happy about you becoming a dad because that meant you'd stay with her," he murmured. "Meanwhile I can be very happy that you're a dad, because now I know the whole story of this relationship."

Ben had caressed Martin's hair, kept going as he talked with Martin.  
"I know, Martin." Ben smiled reassuringly. "At least I know some of the things you just said; you told me in May - after my confession. Not that you were jealous, but that you weren't really happy for me, and that you didn't like the relationship that much, because you wanted someone at my side who would make me deeply and truthfully happy. You told me that you were worried about me and that this doesn’t mean that you’re disliking Sophie in general."  
"I can't remember this part," Martin bowed his head.  
Ben smiled and tousled through Martin’s hair.  
"The light switch seems to get jammed," he winked with a gentle smile.  
"Sometimes, it’s an old one," Martin smiled.  
Ben smiled gently.

For a moment Ben only looked at Martin, then mumbled something to him again.

"I'm not angry with you and there’s no reason to worry about this. I know that it has always been very important to you that I am happy and that I am feeling well. And I was always very grateful for the advice I received by message and phone, or Skype or in person. I was always very grateful for the advices and your thoughts about my relationship with Sophie. I know you like Sophie, just not in combination with me, and I myself have noticed at some point that it really just doesn't fit," Ben smiled and caressed Martin’s hair. "Now you don't have to worry about me anymore; now I have that one person by my side who makes me deeply and truthfully happy," he whispered and pressed Martin’s head down to give him a loving and tender kiss.

Martin sighed in surprise, but devotedly reciprocated the kiss.

Their lips were kissing each other in harmony, were kissing each other as if they had always been meant for one another.  
They felt their fast beating joyful heart, the tingling in their belly, the warm feeling that rushed through every fibre of their body.

Benedict's tongue brushed across Martin's lower lip, who willingly opened his lips slightly. 

Their tongues met in a loving dance - which Benedict was leading, which Martin was only too happy to follow.

In the bedroom you could hear Benedict's deep purring and Martin's nasal sigh.  
They kissed lovingly, gently and slowly, savouring every second of the kiss.

They felt like they were on cloud nine.

It was so easy after all those complicated years.


	33. To Take Appropriate Steps

_**\- Sunday, September/18 – 2016, in the morning, Hertfordshire, Potters Bar, Martin’s house -** _

Martin and Benedict had actually spent the whole Friday in bed, they had even eaten in bed – not that they have cooked something or wasted time to prepare some sandwiches; no, they had just called the delivery service.  
And it had been Ben who had got up for a short moment, just to pick up the food at the front door with a T-shirt and sweatpants.  
Martin and Benedict had enjoyed the day in bed very much.

Actually Martin had rested a lot in the last few weeks, considering his usual schedule.  
And also Benedict hadn’t needed to work either, so there had been quite a lot of time for chilling and relaxing, for sleeping in and hanging around on the couch.  
But in the end it hadn’t been about the free time and the peace and quiet – it had been about enjoying time with the other, together and as close as possible.  
They had enjoyed it very much after years of wordless dancing around each other and making their love for each other more complicated than the theory of relativity.

Since Saturday morning they were at Martin's place and since then they were spending the weekend with each other.  
They just wanted to use the time they had at the moment, because they both knew that this free time would be over again at some point - their schedules would be filled again, completely overlapping and they wouldn't see each other regularly anymore.  
As for Benedict, there was the Doctor Strange Promotion, which would start in mid-October.  
As for Martin, he still had some time off; he would start working in November – just starting easy with the two smaller projects which hadn’t been cancelled or postponed, yet.

Martin came back to Benedict, who was in the living room, standing at the window, looking into the garden, watching the rain after their lovely breakfast.

He stopped at the sofa, sat down on the armrest - he looked at Benedict, ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his neck.  
"Benny?" he asked.  
Benedict tore his eyes away from the raindrops, turned around to Martin, smiled at him.  
"Yes?" he asked softly.  
"I wanted to talk to you about something," Martin rubbed his neck.  
Ben bowed his head, nodded, telling him without words that he was listening.

Martin took a deep breath and rubbed his neck again.  
"Next weekend is the Sherlocked Convention - and we agreed that we e-mail the organisers tomorrow,… to let them know that we’ll stop by," Martin said and saw Benedict’s nod. "Um,... I have to be honest with you, I don't really feel like going to the Convention."  
Ben tilted his head.  
It was true, they had actually turned down the invitation at the beginning - Martin would’ve been in Australia, and he himself had actually wanted to go on holiday after working and flying around a lot lately. At first he had wanted to spend some time with Christopher, but Sophie had thwarted his plans and had booked a holiday for herself and Christopher at the exact same time. Then he had wanted to fly away on his own, but he had also stepped back from it due to Martin’s accident – he had preferred to stay with Martin, taking care of him, knowing Martin would do the same for him. And yesterday they had agreed to go to the convention; many fans had expressed their disappointment about their absence - he could somehow understand it, after all they were Sherlock and Watson.

"You suggested it yourself, Martin," Ben said; he was irritated.  
"Yes, I know. I don't know, ... I had the feeling that you would like to go, because the fans are disappointed that we are not on the guest list. But, actually, I don't feel like taking part," he said honestly.  
"Hmm,... yes. I can understand that they would like to see us, and I'm sorry that we both didn't want to go or that you wouldn't have been able to at all. I mean, you're Watson and I'm Sherlock, those are the two most important characters of this show. I hate to disappoint our fans. You know me, I'm just always too polite and nice," Ben said. "Why don't you feel like going to the Convention?"  
"Yes, you're right," Martin nodded. "I am simply not a fan of these conventions. I really don't like going there, that one Hobbit-Convention was more than enough for a lifetime - for me. Well, ... and then I think that this is just too much for me right now. There are not only three or four fans who might want a selfie, there are an incredible number of fans. We are there all day long, taking pictures and signing autographs and giving these interviews on stage. I'm afraid that somebody will ask me a question that I can't answer - because the memory of it might have disappeared or is only partly there," Martin murmured and looked down on the floor. "I'm more in the mood for a holiday, to get away from here and start all over again – just back to the beginning," he said sheepishly and hardly understandable.

Benedict came to Martin, put his index finger under Martin's chin and raised the head. He rand his hand through Martin's hair, laid his hand on Martin’s shoulder.

"There's something else, am I right?" Ben said, noticing that Martin was still thinking about something else.  
Martin looked up at him. He sighed, put his hand on Benedict's hip, played with the thin dark sweater and looked at Benedict's flat stomach instead of up and into his eyes.  
"This accident just made me very thoughtful - the accident and its consequences, and especially this information about the reanimation," Martin murmured and stared at Benedict's stomach. "I mean, ... I was like dead – twice. And if you’re not able to slow down the heart rate, ventricular fibrillation also leads to death," he said. "There are bicycle accidents that are less bad, but Ben... I… a car hit me, or I hit the car and I climbed over it, hitting the ground very hard and badly. I know there are bicycle accidents, or accidents in general, that are much worse, and even though I just hit the ground badly, it had fatal consequences. They lost me twice and brought me back again, then the story with the defibrillator,... and then the injuries, which are not that bad, but a memory gap of 16 years," he murmured. "It makes you think how incredibly quickly your life can end. With the snap of a finger, with a little idea. Just because you go cycling on a nice day; just because you're too lazy to get your helmet and you hit the ground awkwardly after climbing over a car." He was still playing with Benedict's sweater. "Life can be fucking short, and often you don't live the life you want to. You keep telling yourself that, but you still don't do anything about it... because you don't realise it until life is actually hanging by a thread. I not afraid of being dead. I’m afraid of never seeing loved ones again, never doing anything with them again, never talking with them, laughing with them; not being able to do anything anymore that I would like to experience," he murmured.

Benedict's hand ran through Martin’s hair again, lay against the back of his head, but he didn't force Martin to look up.  
He just kept listening to Martin's voice.

"I don't want to get run over by a car next week and think: ‘great, now you've been at the convention, which you don't like, which is too much for you, instead of relaxing and doing something nice’. You know what I mean? I don't want to fit in just because a few fans are disappointed. I want to use the free time that I have the way I’d like to enjoy it. And I haven't been on vacation for a long time - and this year, I wouldn't have had the time for it. Now I have the time,... and I would like to use the time as I like it, without holding back anything just to please others. How often do we all do something we don't feel like doing, just to be polite and to please others? But what is it good for if my life is suddenly over and I have always pleased everyone but myself,” he murmured. "I would like to fly away, away from here, somewhere warm. I'd like to lie down by the pool or by the sea, recharge my batteries, and start all over again when I get back."

Benedict tilted his head, caressed through Martin’s hair again. He bent down a bit, kissed Martin's head gently, then caressed his grey hair again - and Martin was still playing with his sweater, staring a this stomach.

"I know what you mean, Sweetheart. You want to savour your life and enjoy it because you appreciate it now in a completely different way than you did before the accident," Ben said softly, caressing through the soft grey hair. "Where do you want to go?"  
"Hmm, you suddenly know how valuable your life is, and I don't want to spend my time at a convention, I'm just not the type for it. That's a pity for the fans,... but I'm always there for them on the streets, no matter if I'm in a hurry or on my way home,... or if I'm eating somewhere or drinking a coffee, or after theatre plays, at sets,... but everybody has his limits somewhere", he answered. "Well, I don't know. Maybe Italy, Greece or Spain or something. Just a nice secluded place with a pool, beach and sun."

Benedict looked down, smiled.

"Is my stomach that interesting?”  
Martin looked up briefly, the question made him smile. He lowered his eyes again, stared at Ben’s stomach, then poked at it with a finger while breathing a kiss on Ben's sternum.  
"It’s very interesting, even when hidden, but I like it better when it’s not hiding behind sweaters, T-shirts or shirts," Martin smiled, looking up to Ben.

Ben smiled and winked.

"Well, ... if there's a bit of room for me in the house in Italy, Greece or Spain with the pool and the beach and the sun, ... then my stomach wouldn't hide behind sweaters, T-shirts and shirts anymore," Ben said in a soft deep voice.  
Martin looked up with big eyes.  
"You would come with me?" he asked hopefully and already euphorically.  
"If you take me with you,…" Ben smiled.  
"And the Con?"  
Benedict took Martin's face in both hands.  
"You've kept me waiting forever because of the fans,... do you think I'm gonna let you and a holiday with you down to go to the Con? Absolutely not," Ben smiled. "You,... we,... that's more important to me than trying to please the disappointed fans. I rather go on vacation and enjoy some time with you."

Martin's eyes beamed and sparkled.  
He put his arms around Benedict, pressed his face against Ben's sternum.  
Ben smiled, put his arms around Martin as well, pressed him closer.

"I know you would fly alone too, I know you wouldn't be angry if I would go to the convention - but you're right. I haven't had a holiday myself for a long time,... and after the shock of almost losing you, or well, actually losing you somehow for a few weeks anyway, I'd really like to enjoy the time with you," he whispered. "Especially now that I finally don't have to wait for you anymore."  
Martin smiled.  
"I’ll make up for it," Martin smiled. "I really wouldn't be angry with you, but it's still better to fly with you than alone."

Benedict rubbed Martin's upper back.

"And I can ensure that you are getting a decent amount of rest," Ben smiled.  
"Does snogging, snuggling, cuddling, kissing and sex count as resting?" Martin grinned against Ben's sweater.  
"For my own well-being, snogging, snuggling, cuddling, kissing and sex counts as part of the resting programme," Ben grinned.  
Martin laughed; he looked up with a grin.  
"Slowly and gently wouldn't be too exhausting, or you just do all the work, that wouldn't be exhausting for me either."  
"Slowly and tenderly is very beautiful with you, but the thing is that passionately is also damn great with you. And I don't think I can live without your commitment - you shouldn't have shown your talents right away," Ben grinned.  
"I couldn't have known that we were going on holiday that quickly," Martin grinned and rubbed Ben's back.  
"Anticipatory thinking, Martin," Ben grinned.

He pulled him up, hugged him, bent down a little bit and kissed Martin's cheek, who was grinning.

"I'll make sure that you get some rest. I think we'll both make sure we'll fly back refuelled and relaxed," he smiled gently, breathing another kiss on Martin's cheek.  
Martin nodded with a smile, stood up on tiptoes and breathed a kiss on Ben's lips.  
"Hmm," he confirmed, before Benedict kissed his lips.  
"So, we don't e-mail the organisers, but look for a house with sun, pool and beach?" Ben smiled against Martin's lips.  
"Hmh." he purred against Ben's lips.  
Benedict's lips breathed another kiss on Martin’s, nibbled briefly on the lower lip, then breathed another kiss on the soft and rough lips.  
"Tonight?" Ben murmured against Martin's lips.  
"Hmm," Martin reaffirmed with a purr and joyful sigh.

Another soft kiss.

Martin's hands wandered to Benedict's shoulders and from there across the neck into Benedict's hair.  
"Thank you."  
Ben smiled, let his hands caress to Martin's bum; his hands slipped between the sweatpants and boxer briefs.  
"No need to thank me, little one. I'm glad that you were honest - and above all that you realised that the Con would be too much for you, even without all the other reasons. The holiday is the right thing to do right now. Just getting away from all the hustle and bustle and enjoying a holiday. You can probably rest more during the holiday than here. Even so coincidence and luck were on your side and stubbornness and fighting spirit as well, and even so the injuries weren't that bad in the end, the last weeks were still extremely exhausting. The pain, the brooding, the memory gap, the emotional stress, all the flashbacks and the information about what happened in the ambulance and helicopter," Ben whispered. "The holiday will do you good and then you’ll start all over again, knowing that your laziness almost cost you your life,... but the laziness of a teenager saved your life." He pulled one hand out of Martin's sweatpants, raised it and gently tousled through Martin’s hair. "Don't you dare to ever scare me like that again. Don’t you dare even think about scaring me like that again," Ben said and pulled him back into a warm and loving hug.

Martin snuggled up into the hug, nodding.  
Ben was right - laziness had almost cost him his life, but had saved it too.  
It was incredible that the laziness of two people who didn't even know each other could change so much in one afternoon. Two people who didn't even know each other, but who had been lazy together, probably almost at the same time, had created an incredible connection.

He didn't know who to thank most.  
The boy who wanted to go swimming instead of walking his dog?  
The husband of Charlotte, who had stabbed her in the back and allowed it, and fortunately had an injury of his own, which had made Charlotte the person who had needed to walk the dog?  
Stanley, who knew that Charlotte was not persistent enough and that he could choose his own path and that's why he had found him in the first place?  
Charlotte, who fortunately did not have enough perseverance with Stanley, so Stanley did what he wanted to do?  
Or the emergency doctor who, even when it seemed hopeless, kept fighting; as well as the paramedics?

In the end he had taken appropriate steps - enjoying life and appreciating it because it was too short; not always doing justice to everybody, and above all - investing two minutes... for bicycle helmets.


	34. Knights in Shining Armour

_**\- Tuesday, September/20 – 2016, in the evening, Hertfordshire, Potters Bar -** _

The car stopped in front of the red bricked house with the white door.   
It was dawning, and the diminishing light cast a shadow into the beautiful front garden.

They had parked in the driveway behind the black jeep – as Charlotte had told him yesterday.  
Martin unbuckled his seat belt, looked to Ben. He smiled gently – he turned towards him.  
"It's great that we talked about bringing a bottle of wine with the flowers, ... but we didn't talk about what we are tonight while being with Charlotte and her family."  
Ben also turned towards Martin.  
"Well, but they know I'm coming with you. Don't you think they can guess that we are a couple? You ask if you can bring me along," Ben smiled.  
"Actually, that doesn't necessarily mean that we're a couple. It could just mean that I’d like to have the man with me who has become even more important as a friend in the last couple of weeks. Or that you would also like to thank the whole family personally for their help. And that's actually exactly why you asked me if you could join me," Martin smiled.  
Ben smiled, nodded, then grinned.  
"Well, Martin,… what would you like us to be tonight?”

Martin put his hand on Ben's thigh.

"I don't feel like hiding anything. We both were hiding our feelings for each other long enough. We both like to keep our private life... very private. But after the last few weeks, I feel like it's kind of a waste of the time to hold back anything just because of the public. I care about you and our relationship and I would like to enjoy it to the fullest before I wake up in the hospital and can't remember you or just seeing the inside of a coffin. I don't want to end up saying that I haven't lived my relationship the way I wanted to because of the press and their sneaking pictures and gossip articles."  
Ben tilted his head, put his hand on Martin’s.  
"You're very important to me too, Martin. You and me... this is very important to me. We have both waited long enough," he smiled and squeezed Martin's hand. "Come on, sweetheart, let's enjoy the evening with our newfound friends - as a couple."  
He leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss on Martin's cheek.  
Martin smiled happily, squeezed Benedict's thigh and nodded.

They smiled at each other again before they got out of the car - Martin with the walking stick and the flowers; Benedict with the red wine from the back seat.  
They sauntered to the front door.  
Benedict rang the bell.

They needed to wait a short moment, but then a man with reddish shorter hair and a full beard opened the door for them. The green eyes smiled friendly and heartily, the lips smiled a welcome smile. The man was relatively tall, almost as tall as Ben, but with a more muscular physic – quite like Captain America. He was wearing jeans and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. On his arms you could see a lot of tattoos.   
Martin was stunned, he had not expected such a man as Charlotte’s husband. Not that she looked stuffy or completely serious, quite the opposite; nevertheless he had rather expected a man who looked like a soft family dad from a distance of 1000 meters.

"Hello! There you are! Come on in," he smiled euphorically and stepped aside, had addressed them on first name terms.  
"Hello." Martin smiled at him and came in with a cane and a bouquet of flowers.  
"Good evening." Ben smiled, then followed Martin with the bottle of wine.  
"You can keep your shoes on if you want. Just do what is most comfortable for you," the man smiled to the two of them.  
Martin leaned his cane at the wall and slipped out of his shoes while Benedict didn’t slip out of his shoes.

Martin was the first one who was offered a hand.  
"I am Doug."  
Martin shook his hand with a smile; then Doug and Ben shook hands as well.   
"I'm glad you're here - let's go into the living room, dinner will still take a while."  
"Thanks for the invitation," Ben smiled. "And thanks for letting me come a long as well. That’s very nice," he said on the way to the living room.  
Doug turned his head around.  
"You are very welcome," he smiled. “And it’s a great treat for us. It's not like we have British actors coming and going all the time." He grinned.  
Martin and Benedict grinned, too.

In the living room, Charlotte and her son were waiting. They smiled and walked over to them.

"Hello," Charlotte beamed.  
"Hey," the boy smiled; he had red hair just like his father. 

Martin and Ben also greeted them.

Martin walked closer to them, walked slowly and with a very slight limp, had left the cane in the hallway - another two weeks and he could burn it. Actually, the walking worked quite well again and mostly completely painless, even without the cane. But he preferred to stick to the guidelines, he didn't want to cause any complications himself or to make things worse again with impatience – and patience wasn’t really his strongest attribute.

He smiled at Charlotte, hugged her with one arm, hugged her gently and gratefully. And after a moment of Charlotte's bafflement, he was also hugged by her.  
Their hug lasted a few moments, but when Martin stepped back a little bit, he smiled at her and raised the large, colourful bouquet of flowers he had bought in the afternoon.

"Thank you," he smiled. "Thank you for helping me. If it weren't for you,... you would have needed to just eat with Ben tonight," he said in a warm and grateful voice. "And who would want that... ", he added cheekily to cheer up Charlotte, whose face suddenly looked very concerned and tensed - apparently she hadn't known until now how incredibly close it had been either.  
She accepted the bouquet, put one arm around Martin and hugged him tightly again.  
"I only helped you so that there would be a fifth season of Sherlock and hopefully some Everett Ross and Doctor Strange moment," she replied jokingly. She also wanted to get rid of the bad feeling in her stomach that Martin's statement had caused. "Oh... a dinner just with Ben? Well, why not – but your cheeky middle finger would be missing," she smirked after her tight hug.  
Ben grinned in the background.  
Martin smiled at Charlotte.  
"He can do it too, he learned from the best," Martin winked. "You just have to ask him to do it," he smiled.

Martin turned to her son, who introduced himself with a smile.

"I'm Ethan."  
"Nice to meet you," Martin smiled. "And thank you for wanting to go to the lido instead of walking your dog."  
"Now I'm just insecure about when I can be lazy and when I can't," Ethan smiled.  
Martin looked at him with gentle eyes and a smile.  
"I think your gut feeling was pretty perfect."

Martin turned to Doug.

"Thank you, too. Your whole day has been very perfect for me. Everything worked out, at least for me. Even though you had a little family argument about walking the dog, and you had a sports injury."  
"It's long forgotten," Doug smiled. "And in the end, it was actually quite positive, as was my injury. Otherwise I'd have gone for a walk with Stanley - and I don't walk to commercial vehicle path, because it’s annoying to have to make room for all the vehicles. And while being on a walk with me or Ethan, he knows that he doesn't even have to try to go another way than the one we want. Charly is just too good-natured."

At the terrace door of the living room something moved.   
A head was raised from the dog pillow, eyes were looking in the direction of the new visitors.  
Martin made his way to the dog while Ben greeted the other two and handed over the bottle of wine.  
Martin didn't even manage to squat down because Stanley jumped up immediately, wagged his tail like crazy and jumped around him - just as if he knew they had met before; he probably smelled it and hadn’t forgotten that very exciting and special day.  
Martin smiled down, crouched down slowly and Stanley almost jumped into his arms.  
He put his arms around Stanley, rubbed his back, cuddled and snuggled him - while Stanley was still beside himself with pure joy and excitement.

"I think he won’t leave your side tonight," Ethan smiled. "Mum said he was lying next to you all the time, watching over you, protecting you,… when they found you in the forest. He didn't like it at all when they carried you away; he wanted to go after you. Mum had to pull him back a few times to keep him from running after you," he smiled.  
Martin raised his head, still hugged and cuddled Stanley, caressed and rubbed his fur.  
"Really?" he asked with a smile.  
"Yes, he did. And when they were back, he was whimpering all day. He was in a very weird and strange mood for a while; he just lay on his pillow and didn't play and he kept whimpering. He looked really sad and worried for days. After mum had visited you in the hospital, you know, when you were awake, she told Stanley that you’re alright and fine, that you are awake and that you are recovering quite well. He probably didn't understand the words but I think he could tell by the way she was speaking to him what she wanted to tell him. He's been back to normal ever since."  
Martin smiled, turned his head back to Stanley, who looked happily and who was panting and still wagging his tail.  
"Thanks for your help, Stanley," Martin smiled at the dog and rubbed over his head. 

And when he got up again, one could actually see that Stanley was just waiting to follow him should he make the smallest step.

Martin had walked to the sofa with Benedict as Charlotte had made an inviting gesture in that direction – and of course, Stanley had followed every step Martin had done; he had walked next to him as slowly as Martin.

They all sat down together.

Stanley stayed in front of the sofa but had positioned himself between Martin's legs, laid his head on his lap and looked up at him with faithful and admiring eyes.  
"Sorry," Dough smiled.  
"Nothing to worry about. I love dogs," Martin smiled and caressed Stanley's head.  
"Alright.” Dough smiled. “Oh, we decided to have an Italian-themed dinner tonight. We have antipasti, we have lasagna, we have tiramisu. We also made a vegetarian lasagna and the antipasti is also mostly vegetarian."  
"That’s very kind. Otherwise I would have just stick with the tiramisu," Martin smiled and grinned, and still caressed Stanley.

The others were grinning.

"Italian food fits very well," Ben smiled.  
"Oh yeah, it does! We're going to Italy tomorrow morning." Martin smiled.   
"Really? You guys together? Cause you're having some time off right now?" Ethan asked.  
"Do you want to take a vacation together since you finally have time to do something together?" Charlotte asked.  
"Or are you going as a couple?" Doug asked directly.  
Martin and Ben grinned to the others.  
"Yes, to all your questions," Ben smiled. "We're flying because we have time, because we'd like to spend time together, which is actually very rare. And we're flying as a couple."  
"We haven't noticed that yet!" Charlotte said in amazement. "Ahem, that you're a couple."  
"That’s probably because you are the very first to know about us," Martin grinned but then smiled. "It’s just a few days, yet. We simply decided to go on holiday because we haven’t had much time to spend together as friends and because we just wanted to enjoy the first weeks of our relationship as it took us a long time to finally get there. And well, I would like to get away from here to recharge my batteries before I will start all over again. I told you about the flashbacks during our phone calls – it’s exhausting and it's enough input; I can’t stand London with all its people right now, and I can’t stand Potters Bar right now, either.”  
Doug and the others nodded.  
"It's perfectly understandable," Doug smiled. "We are happy for you. For you as a couple and that you can go for a holidays together," he added. "So, you won’t be surprise guests at the Sherlocked Con." He grinned.  
"Thank you," Ben smiled. "Yeah, we're not at the Con," he nodded. "We had thought about going, we’ve even decided to go, but Martin was uncomfortable with the thought, so we won’t attend. Sorry. Martin wouldn't have been there anyway, and to be honest, I didn't really feel like it either. The last months were very exhausting and I just want to relax.”  
Ethan grinned at them.  
"You're gonna have to send us a post card as a redemption."  
Doug and Charlotte smirked and nodded.  
Ben and Martin grinned, too.  
"We'll send you a post card," Martin said.   
"Great!" Ethan said, expressing his joy and happiness. "But I can understand you. After so much work, I'd be happy to be left alone for a change. And especially if I wasn't doing so well, I wouldn't want such a big crowd around me – it will be loud and very noisy, there’s a lot going on with a lot of people. It’s sad that you won’t attend, but I think it’s the best for you. Don’t feel guilty, neither you nor you, Ben."

Ben and Martin nodded with a smile.

Martin was glad he had talked to Ben about it - even though he had suggested going to the convention himself the day before. He was sure that day would have been a nightmare. Just thinking about it had made his heart almost hyperventilating, had almost made him having a panic attack. It would have been too much - the noise, the hustle and bustle, the questions and pictures, the interviews, giving autographs.   
As sure as he had been when he had suggested to visit the convention, the reality and the fear of it had caught up with him quite fast - and he was more than happy that especially Ben had understood.

He would definitely enjoy the evening with Ben and Charlotte's family. Her husband and son were very sympathetic. And the lasagna would be a great start for the holiday with Ben.


	35. Beach Nights

_**\- Thursday, September/22 – 2016, Italy, Sicily -** _

Yesterday their very first holiday had begun.

Never before, Martin had been on holiday with a partner that quickly. But it was different with Ben; he had been attracted to Benedict for such a long time; he had been in love with Ben for such a long time; and they had been extremely close friends for years. Not to forget that Ben had also loved him for several years now.

So why should they wait?

Martin had just realised how quickly life could be over - and he had to say that since that day he was absolutely not willing to give up something he really wanted, something he loved and valued; and he didn't want to hold anything back anymore, especially not with Ben. He didn't want to miss anything with him; they had already lost a lot of time.

This accident had extended his comfort zone by a big chunk, and therefore he didn't care if the fans would get to know more about their private lives in the future.  
This accident had made his head a little calmer; it didn’t feel like he was overthinking everything a thousand times anymore; he simply did what felt good and right, what he wanted to experience.  
The accident had helped him with his non-stop thinking head, and Benedict had done a lot for it, too.

They would enjoy their holiday and he would be able to relax.  
It was great to be far away from London for a while.  
All the people and the noise, all the rush, the hustle and bustle.  
It was quiet and peaceful here, it was warm and just lovely; they had the sea right in front of the door and even a big pool area on the property; the house was relatively far outside, even if it was still possible to walk to the next town, respectively the next village - but even in that lovely Italian village wasn’t much going on, as they weren’t any tourists in this area.  
It was perfect for resting, recovering and recharging.  
Exactly what he needed - the accident had hit him pretty hard.  
All the broken bones, the laceration, the abrasions, the amnesia, the flashbacks and the knowledge that he had been brought back to life several times.  
And he was quite grateful for all the support he had had and still had - from all his friends, his family, and his current partner.  
He was looking forward to the vacation; he was looking forward to relaxing and recharging his batteries, especially because Benedict was with him.  
It was nice that he had come along - he would have missed him terribly if he had stayed in London.

The property they had rented was quite large, as was the house itself. It had quite a few rooms, it was actually meant for more than two people, but it had been the house that had appealed to them most because of its secluded location.  
In the end it had been a bull's eye, no matter that they had paid much more because of the large property.  
The house had three floors, had been built in Italian style. It had a large kitchen, a large living room and a large terrace. The bathrooms were spacious, as were the bedrooms, and for each bedroom there was also a balcony. And also the furniture radiated Italian flair.  
The property was heavily planted with various trees, palms, bushes, plants and flowers. It protected the property a little more from views, on top of the already very secluded location - and yet it was nice to see all the green and colourful variety.   
Also the pool area was big in the spacious garden. It was located on three different levels. If one came from the terrace, there was a small pool at the lowest level of the garden that was not very deep and more suitable for children - but also here, one could sit comfortably to let the feet and legs dangle in the water. At the second level, right behind the small pool, there was a whirlpool that they had already used. And behind it on the third level there was a big and long pool in which one could swim.  
It was wonderful here.

Right behind their house was the sea, and that's where they were going to right now.  
They had had dinner on their property this evening, had cooked together.  
They strolled off the property, walked right onto the sandy beach.  
They were barefoot, wearing only swimming shorts and a top - Martin a loose shirt, Benedict a simple white T-shirt.  
Martin carried the towels, Benedict carried the bottle of wine and two glasses.

It was slowly getting darker and darker, but the property threw some light to the beach; light that would suffice later on.  
It had already become much fresher, but they wanted to go into the sea - and somehow they would warm up again, after all they had towels and a blanket with them, and each other to snuggle up against.

Martin let the towels and the blanket drop into the sand. He spread two of the larger towels next to each other as a lying surface; two other towels lay next to them, the blanket, too.   
Benedict placed the glasses and the wine next to the blanket. 

He took a step towards Martin, laid his hands on Martin's, stopped him from unbuttoning the buttons of his shirt.  
Martin looked up with a gentle look.  
"I thought we were going to swim in the sea."  
"We will." Ben smiled. "I just wanted to help you," he winked.  
And then he started to unbutton the third button of the shirt, because the first two buttons of the dark shirt hadn’t been closed anyway.  
Martin smiled and let his hands sink; and shortly after he closed his eyes, because Benedict's lips were kissing his neck as he unbuttoned his shirt.  
The fourth button was opened, Benedict's lips were kissing across the neck to Martin's cheek, who sighed with a purr.  
Benedict's hands still unbuttoned the shirt as he captured Martin’s lips for a kiss.   
Martin's hands wandered over Benedict’s body – across the shoulders, down the spine, were slipping beneath the T-shirt and feeling the warm and soft skin. He enjoyed the kiss, enjoyed his warm lips, enjoyed that sweet and tender kiss. He felt Benedict's warm hand caressing his bare upper body, his fingers were crawling his tummy - goose bumps all over his body.  
He pushed up Benedict's T-shirt, who lifted his arms to help and also slowly ended the kiss.   
Just a blink of an eye later, the T-Shirt sailed down onto the sandy beach.  
They looked at each other, smiled.  
Benedict lowered his arms, his hands were softly stroking the shirt off Martin's shoulders.  
Their lips met for smaller kisses. 

Slowly the couple separated again.

Martin raised his hand, caressing Benedict’s stubble.   
"Thank you," he whispered.  
Ben smiled, breathing a kiss on his forehead. He wrapped his arms around Martin, hugged him for a gentle moment.   
Martin rubbed tenderly across his back, liked to be hugged by Ben, liked to feel him, especially because he could feel his naked skin, his warm naked soft skin. He closed his eyes for a moment.  
Thank God he had finally understood that he loved Ben truthfully and that he hadn’t been forced to feel love for him – he would have missed a lot, if he wouldn’t have realised it due to his accident.  
Before Ben loosened the hug, Martin snuggled closer for the last few moments.

They walked to the sea.

Even so it was fresher than earlier today, it didn’t stop them from just walking into the water. They didn’t want to swim for hours; they had just wanted to swim a little bit, to enjoy the view; they had just wanted to lie down afterwards, to snuggle and cuddle under their blanket while drinking a glass or two of the red wine they brought with them.

They walked into the sea, walked and walked before diving under the water, and coming up for air a few moments later.  
Neither of them was able to stand, they moved their legs slightly under water.  
Martin rubbed his nose.  
"Colder than I thought."  
"Absolutely," Ben nodded. "Why have we been desperate to go for a swim in the sea?"  
"I don't know," Martin grinned. "At dinner we thought it was a good idea."   
He came a little closer, stretched his head towards Ben and pressed a kiss on his cold lips.  
Ben smiled at him afterwards.  
"Sometimes one can have really stupid ideas," he grinned. "But it's beautiful here anyway," he smiled and looked around.  
It was great to see the vastness of the sea, the rocks, the beach, their holiday property, the dark sky, the moon.  
The light of the moon and the light of the property put everything in a beautiful light.  
It was romantic, though damn cold.  
"That's right," Martin nodded. "It looks really beautiful,... but I think for the other days it's enough if we just cuddle on the beach late at night."

He took Benedict's face in both hands, kissed him lovingly.   
And Benedict joined his loving kiss. The hands lay on Martin's bum, pressing him closer while their legs moved slightly.  
Martin's hands ran into Benedict's wet hair. He could hear him sigh.  
Ben had slowly taken the lead of the kiss, was nibbling at Martin's lower lip, who was the one sighing right now.  
His lip was freed and kissed with sweet little kisses.

"Let's shorten the swimming and lengthen the cuddling and snuggling," Ben smiled against Martin's lips.  
"Sounds fantastic. That's warmer and cosier too," Martin muttered.  
Benedict nodded with a smile.  
"Then let's swim back so we can enjoy the cuddling," he smiled and gave Martin another kiss on the bearded cheek.  
Martin nodded with a smile.

They swam back a short distance until they were able to stand again, before walking through the water and across the sandy beach to their towels and blanket.

Martin bent down, took the two extra towels and handed one of them to Benedict.  
"Thank you." the dark voice smiled.  
Martin winked at him, rubbed his hair dry as best as he could while Benedict did the same.  
They rubbed over their hair, torso, arms and legs.

Martin was the one who sat down first; he took the blanket, unfolded it, put it around his shoulders, and when Benedict sat down, he put the large blanket around his shoulders, too.  
They were sitting opposite of each other, were slipping closer to each other – so close that they were able to wrap their legs around the hips of the other.  
Martin didn’t just wrap his legs around Ben, he also wrapped his arms around him.   
Benedict put his hands on Martin's back, rubbing gently over the cold skin, which caused Martin to sink against Benedict, pressing his cheek against Ben’s collarbone.  
He closed his eyes, snuggled up against Ben - against the cold skin that was getting warmer under the fluffy blanket.

Benedict turned his head around, breathed a kiss into Martin's damp hair, rubbed across his back, hugged him even tighter afterwards, and gave him another kiss.  
"Shall we lie down?" Ben asked, breathing a third kiss into Martin's hair.  
"Yeah.", Martin confirmed and raised his head.  
He looked at Ben with bright blue eyes, smiled – and he got a smile from Ben, too, who caressed through his hair, kissed his forehead and tapped against his nose with the finger; it made him smile.   
The gesture had been kind of cute and the wink with the bright green eyes after he had nudged his nose had made the butterflies in his belly go crazy. 

His smile was innocent, his eyes were just shining dreamily to Ben as they lay down slowly, as they covered themselves with the blanket again.  
Ben smiled to him, just his presence and these bright blue eyes with that innocent tender smile gave him goose bumps, a fast racing heart and a tingling sensation in his stomach.  
Before Martin just turned around, he gave Ben a firm but tender kiss on the lips.

Ben put his arms around Martin, pushed one leg between his and pressed him against his chest. His hands rested on Martin’s chest, his face was snuggling in Martin’s grey hair.  
The blanket warmed them, they were both looking towards the beautiful sea.  
Martin watched the sea, enjoyed he cuddling of Ben, the kisses and the caressing.   
Ben's little kisses fondled Martin’s hair; his fingers caressed playfully and softly Martin’s chest and tummy, the collarbone and sternum, and a little bit of Martin’s neck.

Martin smiled with pleasure, nestled his back against Ben's chest and stomach.   
He sighed and purred over and over again, felt himself getting warmer and warmer - not only because of the blanket, but also because of the good feeling Ben gave him, and because of the loving kisses and cuddles.   
As beautiful as the view was, he slowly closed his eyes, just enjoying the input he got from Ben.  
It was great to feel his lips and fingers on his body, so tender and loving, so warm and soft.

Ben rubbed his nose through Martin's slightly damp and cold hair, breathed sweet little kisses into it.   
"I love you, Little One," the deep voice tenderly whispered into the grey damp hair.  
Martin's heart stopped beating for a brief moment, just to beat rapidly against his chest afterwards; the butterflies were busy again, and he even felt that his knees were as soft as warm pudding.  
"And I love you, Benny," Martin breathed warmly and lovingly.  
He grabbed Benedict’s hand under the blanket, led their hands to his mouth, kissed Benedict’s hand lovingly, then pressed it against his chest, against his heart, which was still beating fast and happily.

He held Benedict's hand, whose smile he could feel in his hair.


	36. A Why on the Lilo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow - I can't believe it, we're already just right in front of the last chapter.
> 
> Thank you very much for your kudos and comments, and especially for reading this story.  
> I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> I'll be back for every one of you, but especially for Martin fans with a Martin/female OC story - 1st of June!  
> It will be fluffy and adorable, sweet and cute, and with lots of flashbacks back to little Martin, kiddy Martin and teen Martin.  
> Hope to see you again.
> 
> Enjoy the last chapter!  
> Thank you!  
> M.

_**\- Friday, September/23 – 2016, afternoon, Italy, Sicily -** _

The sun was burning down from the Sicilian sky. Only the countless trees, palms and bushes, as well as the large Italian house by the sea was casting shadows on the property.  
The sky was blue, not a cloud was to see - only a light breeze was blowing from the sea towards the property, providing a little pleasant refreshment.

They had only been here since the day before yesterday, but Martin was already feeling much better. He had already recovered much more than in the last few weeks at home.   
And that was surely due to the seclusion of the house.   
The next village could be reached by foot in 10 to 15 minutes, but there you couldn’t find any tourists, just locals – it was a beautiful little village.  
It was just great to enjoy the sun and peace together with Benedict. It was just great not to be burdened with even more input - the flashbacks were enough for him, he didn't need another house that still seemed strangely new and yet so familiar; and he could easily do without the London visits. It was still too loud in London, too crowded, too strange - even if there were already an incredible number of memories filling the gaps; memories of projects, fans, awards, premieres, private trips, friends, family.  
He loved his country, and he knew he loved London, but right now, it was just too much input, too much noise and hustle and bustle – and it was the same with his friends and his family; he loved them dearly, but right now it was all a bit too much for him.  
He needed this holiday, and it was doing him good.

The two days with Benedict had been quite lovely so far, and he had wondered why they hadn't stopped hiding much earlier. He wondered why he had let himself believe that the feelings he had for Ben weren’t true; he wondered why he had been so insecure; he wondered why they hadn't talked honestly and openly to each other before - something they had actually been able to do from second one; apart from this particular feeling.  
They had been afraid of something they both knew for certain would never happen - neither of them would have broken off their friendship with the other, neither of them would have distanced themselves inappropriately.  
But apparently they had to get to know each other again to realise what they had missed for several years.  
It could have been so easy – they could already live in a loving relationship for several years.

He loved Ben a lot, this man was very important to him, he meant a lot to him, his heart was strongly attached to him. It felt fantastic to discover their relationship and friendship on a whole new level - and yet there was a little strange feeling.  
They had wanted a relationship for years, now they had it, and it was a bit strange to share all the wishes and desires with the other.  
But they did it - openly and enjoyably.

Martin strolled from the house back to the pool area. He walked to the big pool and to the sun loungers standing there.  
He had fetched up some fresh drinks and new ice packs for the cool box, to be precise he had taken the cool box with him and had refilled it in the house.   
His feet carried him over the stone plates to the sun loungers, where he put the cooler box down. 

Benedict smiled at him through his sunglasses, took Martin's wrist and pulled him down a little.  
Martin also smiled at him through his sunglasses; he bent down to Ben, smiled with him more and more until their lips found each other for a kiss.   
Benedict was still holding him by his wrist, placing his other hand on Martin's naked lower back while Martin's free hand had disappeared into Benedict's hair.  
Their kiss was gentle and soft - the lips parted with a gentle noise, but they reunited again.  
Their tongues met in a slow and tender dance.   
Benedict's fingers crawled along Martin's lower back, Martin's hand rested in Benedict's hair.  
And Benedict even followed Martin a little bit when the grey haired man wanted to free his lips.

He smiled at Martin, rubbed his back, then put his hand on Martin's hip, who had stood up straight again.  
Martin smiled down, winked and caressed trough Benedict's hair, which was still slightly damp from the last pool session. His own hair was also still a little wet, as was the black swimming shorts. He took off his sunglasses, put them on the small table between the sun loungers, pinched one eye slightly while talking, the other one was shining down to Ben.  
"You see,... I got the box here in one piece."  
"I could have gone and fill it, Martin," Ben smiled.  
"I'm allowed to walk again and allowed to use my arm again, Benny," Martin smiled, and ran his hand through Ben’s hair again.   
"I know, but you shouldn't do too much.”  
"I was just carrying a cooler, Darling. I didn't perform any stunts on the way in and out of the house," Martin winked down.   
Ben smiled, almost grinned.  
"Sorry, Sweetheart. I worry too much."  
"It's okay. I would have let you do it if it would have been too much. I don’t want any complications either. But I'm supposed to do a bit more with my leg, shoulder and hand. I’m supposed to walk more without the cane, I’m supposed to carry a few things and to put some weight on my leg, shoulder and wrist." He caressed through Ben's hair again. "I'm fine, I promise. Are you coming into the pool with me?", Martin asked with a smile.  
Ben smiled, caressing Martin’s hip.  
"I'll be right behind you," he said gently, grabbed Martin's hand and pulled him down again.

They smiled at each other, exchanged a gentle short kiss.   
And before Martin turned around and walked towards the pool, he winked at Benedict.

Martin walked to the pool, wanted to sit down on the edge to wait for Ben, but Ben had quietly followed him.

"I don't have to worry, and you're all right?" Benedict's deep voice asked directly behind Martin, who flinched slightly.  
He turned around, put his hand to his chest.  
"Fuck.", he gasped "Yeah, I'm really fine, Benny. I don't even take painkillers anymore and I haven't had any pain since we got here, even if I've walked without the cane or carried something." He turned around, raised his hand and rubbed across Benedict's chest. "Really, it's all fine, Benny," he smiled and placed a kiss on Benedict's collarbone.  
Ben smiled down at Martin, wrapped his arms around him.  
"You mean, I could be cheeky and push you into the pool?" Ben smiled.  
Martin smirked.  
"Ah, that's why you are asking. You shouldn’t announce things like that, Cumberbatch. Didn't I teach you anything?" he kept grinning.  
"You did. A lot of nonsense. And I probably would have done it without asking... " Ben grinned. "... if it hadn't been for your accident. I really don’t want to hurt you, because I'm wrestling with you to throw you into the pool."  
Martin grinned.  
"You may wrestle with me, Mr. Cumberbatch. But you're fucking going down with me, I swear." Martin grinned with a wink.  
"We'll see, Mr. Freeman," Ben grinned.

They both looked at each other with a challenging grin.  
And then they fought their way out of each other's hug. 

They were both standing quite close to the edge of the pool, grabbing each other again and again, trying to get the other one even closer to the edge to throw him in.  
Martin countered as hard as he could. Benedict was already at advantage because of his size, and he was more persistent and stronger, but now he had another disadvantage over Ben with his injuries – good thing was, he was quite fast and small to duck himself away. He knew Ben would be able to push him into the pool, but he wanted to delay it as long as possible; he wanted to pull Ben into the pool with him if possible.

They wrestled with each other at the edge of the pool; they had fun doing it, stumbled dangerously close to the edge again and again. Benedict even almost lost his balance once when Martin just ducked away under his arm. He had barely been able to hold himself back from falling into the pool - but he had wondered why Martin hadn't given him the last tiny push; probably his partner had as much fun as he had and didn't want it to be over yet.

A few minutes later, Martin stood with his back to the pool again; he already felt the water sloshing against one of his heels. With the other foot he supported himself, trying to push Ben away. But Ben held against it, strength and endurance still completely present. It was quite easy to push Martin forward a little more.  
And that was exactly what Ben did - it was only a little bit that was missing for Martin to lose his balance.  
One foot slipped into the water.   
He turned his body a little bit to the side, grabbed Benedict and pulled him into the cool water with him. 

They fell into the pool with a loud splash, drowned for a moment but reappeared shortly afterwards.  
They wiped the water off their faces - and they grinned at each other; broadly.

Martin took a step towards Ben, grabbed his face, pulled him down and put his lips on Benedict's, who had looked at him in a bewildered way - he had probably suspected an ambush.  
Martin's hands wandered from the cheeks to Benedict's neck and from there into the wet hair.  
Benedict wrapped his arms around Martin with a slight delay - he had simply been far too surprised. He loved the kisses with Martin, but just now he had not expected to be attacked like that – he had thought Martin would do something cheeky and naughty, so he was even more enjoying that sweet but passionate kiss of him.

Almost 2000 kilometres away, the Sherlocked Convention had started today. 

Mark sat on stage with some other guests - Amanda, Benedict's parents, Andrew, Louise, Rupert, Sue and Steven; they were sitting on the stage that was designed like 221Bs living room.   
And in front of the stage were lots of fans who had bought tickets for this event. They had been more than disappointed that they won’t see Benedict or Martin during the next three days. They knew the chance to see Martin had been small due to his Cargo project in Australia, but they had hoped that Martin would show up because of the postponed project, anyway. And above all they had hoped that Benedict would be announced as a surprise guest one day or at least today.  
But neither Ben nor Martin had been announced as guests. Some of them were just disappointed, had hoped to meet their idols and especially the main actors; some of them were even angry, because after all there were not two actors missing, who were only visible for five minutes in all episodes, but it was Sherlock and Watson who were missing the whole weekend.

They were in the middle of an interview with the fans when Mark's smartphone vibrated several times in his trouser pocket. He felt it on his right thigh, it didn’t stop vibrating for a while, then it stopped, and it started again shortly after.  
Mark sighed, sitting comfortably with Benedict's parents on Sherlock's leather couch. Sue had turned John's armchair towards the audience, Steven had put Sherlock's armchair in position and the others were sitting on other chairs.  
Mark got his phone out of his trouser pocket.

"Mark!" Benedict's mother hissed while Amanda was answering a question.  
"It vibrates all the time," he hissed, looking at his phone. 

LittleMartin sent a message.  
Two missed calls from LittleMartin  
LittleMartin sent a message.  
LittleMartin sent a video.

These four messages showed up in lock mode.

He wrinkled his forehead. He was curious.

Anyone else, apart from Benedict, would have needed to wait until the evening, but he wanted to know what Martin was up to. After all, he was not at the Con and maybe he had something to say about it, or maybe he wasn’t feeling alright and couldn’t reach Ben or someone else.  
He unlocked the phone, curiosity had won, even if it was somehow rude to read messages on the phone while sitting on stage.  
His eyes flew over the text messages.

**Just called you, so you might finally look at your phone. I know you're at the convention and can't call me back.**

Mark tilted his head, scrolled up a bit more, read the other message.

**Hey, could you show the fans the video I sent you? It's a little greeting and apology to the fans.**

Mark was still wrinkling his head, while Wanda rammed her elbowed into his side.  
Mark looked up, everyone was looking at him.   
Not only Wanda, but also everyone else on stage was looking at him, and the fans were all staring at him, too.

"What are you doing?!" Steven asked him across the stage.  
"I've got a little surprise for the fans," he said and was glad that at least it had been worth looking at the phone. "I'm gonna need a tech guy," he said and stood up.  
He walked across the stage and one of the employees came towards him. He picked up Mark's phone with an instruction.  
Mark was still being watched, sat down again, picked up the microphone.  
"Just a minute. Watson sent a video. I don't know what kind of video it is; he just texted it is some kind of a greeting and an apology to you," he smiled to the fans.

Euphoria in front of the stage.   
At least, Martin had apparently sent a little video for them, which was better than nothing.  
Even the last ones pulled out their smartphones and had it ready to record the video from the big screen.

Mark and the others turned around to the screen as well.

A video appeared on the big black screen - one saw a part of a pool, one saw the blue water sparkling in the sunshine, and one saw palms, trees and bushes, as well as a part of an Italian house that was not covered completely.  
Mark and the others tilted their heads with wrinkled foreheads.  
None of them had known that Martin was on vacation.  
"Start, please." Mark said through the microphone.  
And the technician started the video.

_One could still see the same image, it was shaky now and one could hear Martin's voice even so one didn't see him.  
"You have to turn around the camera."  
"What?" A much deeper voice asked.  
"One can still see the house, Benny," one heard Martin say - and suddenly the picture changed.  
One could still see a bit of the pool, one could see a bit of green, but most of all one could now see Benedict with wet hair, a wet face, and a wet naked upper body; his hair was shorter and he had a stubble. Behind him one could see Martin spying over Ben's shoulder, also with wet hair and a wet face; one couldn't really see his upper body, because Benedict was covering him. But Martin wrapped one arm around Benedict, so at least one could see his naked arm - Martin had a beard, the hair was also a bit shorter._

The hall was in shock. A loud murmur had appeared when Benedict and Martin had suddenly appeared in the video - together.  
Nobody could believe what they saw - Benedict and Martin apparently on holiday.  
Even cast and crew on stage stared stunned at the video - because nobody knew anything about a holiday, not even Timothy and Wanda.  
Only three people were smiling in the middle of the other fans.  
Charlotte, Doug and Ethan.

_Martin spoke again.  
"Why didn't we just do this on the sun lounger or in the house?"   
Ben turned his head a little towards Martin.  
"It’s working here. What could possibly happen?", Ben asked with a smile. "You're already wet anyway."  
"But your smartphone is not wet yet and I think it wouldn't be that happy to get wet", Martin grinned. "Besides, we are probably sinking any minute. We’re too heavy for the lilo; we’re already pressing it under water with our weight, Ben," Martin grinned.  
"Oh, I don’t mind. I'm tall enough," Ben smirked cheekily.   
Martin pinched the skin of Ben’s tummy, with the hand the camera of smartphone couldn’t see.   
”Shut up, Cumberbatch. You've already pressed record," Martin grinned.  
"Oh, that's right," Ben said, now looking back into the camera._

_They floated across the pool sitting on a lilo – one could see how the picture in the background changed very slowly._

_Benedict smiled into the camera.  
"Hello - we wanted to send you some greetings from Italy. We are very sorry we are not with you, but we hope you will have fun with all the others you will see this weekend.”  
Martin also looked into the camera, spied over Ben's shoulder, who had leaned back against Martin chest to be a little bit smaller.  
"Hello from me too," he smiled. "I guess, you have to blame me for the fact that not even Sherlock is with you. We had thought about coming, but we decided to go on holiday at the end," he said. "You are very important to us and we are immensely grateful for your support. We didn't want to disappoint you, hurt you or make you angry; we know you all would have loved to see us. We know you all would have loved to see us, so we thought we could cheer you up a bit with this video," he said with a charming smile, while Ben just smiled softly into the camera_

_Ben nodded briefly into the camera, but Martin continued talking._

_"You all know that I had an accident, and even though I'm almost physically fit again, the convention was just too much for me. Unfortunately, not only did I hurt myself physically during my accident, ... I also suddenly couldn't remember many years of my life. I didn't know that I was such a famous actor and I didn't know anything about any of you anymore, let alone Ben or any of the other guests sitting on stage with you,... except Amanda," he explained. "All of this is coming back at the moment, and these flashbacks are very exhausting. You were a bit too much for me, I'm afraid. I haven’t wanted to go to the convention because I was afraid of standing in front of you without a suitable answer. And I didn't want to panic due to questions, flashbacks, all these noises and all of you. I just had to get out of London and England," he said honestly - it was private, but they both hadn’t felt like lying to the disappointed fans in their greeting and apology video. "And well,... the handsome man in front of me wanted to come along, so I put him in my suitcase and took him with me," he smiled._

_"Actually he was in the suitcase," Ben grinned into the camera and cuddled his back a little more obviously against Martin. Martin grinned, pinched his stomach again – unnoticed. He still hugged him with his other arm. "Ooouuch!" Ben grinned. "You all are my witnesses! Martin pinched my stomach for the second time! He pretends to hug me, but he keeps pinching me," Ben grinned.  
Martin smirked cheekily, pressed Ben even closer against his chest and breathed a kiss into his wet hair.  
"I mainly cuddle! You're just mean, that's why I pinch you! Besides, one can't see that I do it, so you don’t have any proof," Martin smirked naughtily. "I can also say 'Oouuch',”, he said and let the ‘Ouch’ sound like someone had hurt him. “… and claim that you are pinching my leg right now," Martin grinned and breathed another kiss into Benedict’s hair.  
Ben just smiled softly and one could see very clearly that he had enjoyed Martin's soft kisses._

_The eyes had been closed for a short time, now they opened again.  
Martin’s fingertips caressed Benedict’s chest, right were he was holding him._

_Benedict spoke again._

_"As Martin said,... we didn't want to disappoint you, only this holiday here seemed more important. Sometimes you have to choose between two things and for the current situation the holiday and rest seemed to be much more important. You are also very important to us and without you the convention wouldn't even exist, but we both learned the hard way a few weeks ago how quickly you might not be able to experience what you want. And that's why WE and the vacation came first. We send you lots of greetings from Sicily; please have a lot of fun without us, and we hope that we could cheer you up with the video and the additional Freebatch news.”  
Martin also smiled into the camera.  
"Best wished to the people on stage as well - sorry that we didn't tell you before. We will send you a post card and we will be back on October the 8th. Take care," he smiled._

_The video ended with a beaming Benedict and a charming winking Martin._

Everyone in the hall had their eyes and mouths wide open - not only the fans, but also everyone sitting on stage.  
Mark had absolutely not expected such a video, but probably nobody here had expected such a video. Martin had somehow already told him that he liked Ben more than a friend, and he himself had only waited for this news - but to actually hear it had hit him absolutely unexpectedly. And when he looked at the faces of Wanda and Timothy, it seemed that neither of them knew that Benedict was on vacation, nor that Benedict and Martin were a couple. 

But Timothy was the first to say something again - at least from the people who were on stage, because the fans were whispering wildly, some had already uploaded the video of Martin and Benedict to social media.  
Timothy raised the microphone.

"Well,... Ben had never told us,… in the way he just did, … that he has a new partner. Never before, he had introduced a partner like this."

In Italy, Ben and Martin were still sitting on the lilo - they still pressed it a little bit under water, so they were sitting in the water, too.  
Martin gave Ben a kiss on the shoulder, then took the smartphone.  
Benedict paddled towards the edge of the pool.  
"Do you think we'll receive some phone calls today?" Ben asked while paddling.  
"I'd bet your mother will call," Martin grinned. "I'm sure she'd like to know a bit more about it, about us and this holiday. I mean we haven't told anyone, neither about us nor that we're on holiday." He gave Ben another kiss on the shoulder. "And I imagine we'll get some messages and emails from our publicists - the fans probably filmed this and it's probably already out there somewhere on social media." He kissed Ben's shoulder again.  
Ben sighed with relish before answering.   
“Yeah, I guess you're right, Sweetheart. But we don't have to answer all of this. We're on holiday for a while," Ben smiled. "And by the time we get back to London, it might have worn off a bit."   
Martin put the phone on the dry stone plates when they got to the edge of the pool. 

Martin wrapped both arms around Benedict, kissed the hairline at the back of his neck.  
"Yes, we're on holiday," Martin whispered against Benedict's neck, and scratched the tummy with his fingers – softly and gently.  
Benedict closed his eyes, leaned comfortably into Martin's arms and enjoyed his tender caresses. He laid one hand on Martin’s, took it in his, raised their hands to his lips and kissed Martin's fingers.  
Martin smiled against Benedict's neck, kissed it again. His nose rubbed through Benedict's hair. 

The smile remained on his face.  
He felt good, better than he had in the last few weeks, better than he had ever felt in his life.   
The holiday here was amazing, it was great to take a break and enjoy the peace and quiet with Benedict. And Benedict was the second reason why he was doing so well. Benedict had always had a very special effect on him, and he still had it now, now even more intense. He felt very much loved by Ben, and he was quite grateful for all the support he had received in the last weeks. This stupid accident had not only brought them closer together as friends, the accident had also given them this relationship.  
Probably he would have believed in his own wrong truth forever - that the fans had forced him to feel love for Ben. Probably he would never have believed in anything else or dared to admit something else to himself. Only when he didn't know anything about all these fanfictions and fanarts and all the talk about it anymore, he had recognised the real truth.   
He had fallen in love with Benedict again; with a man he knew very well, who was very close to him, whom he had to get to know again. 

He continued to smile against Benedict's neck, enjoying the kisses on his hand, caressing Benedict's belly with his left hand.  
He felt very comfortable and safe, here in Italy, with Ben, knowing that many people now knew that he was in a relationship with Ben.  
It was a great feeling to be with Ben.   
It was an amazing feeling to love Ben and to be loved by him.  
He cuddled his cheek against Benedict's neck, closed his eyes, hugged Ben even tighter.

His accident had put everything on hold for some time with Ben.   
But the memories were coming back, and with them a new beginning.

Now they would enjoy their holiday and the beginning of their relationship.

The End


End file.
